


Murder On The Hogwarts Express

by kkwide



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Emotional Hurt, Eventual Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Harry Potter Epilogue Compliant, Head Auror Harry Potter, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Murder Mystery, Original Character(s), POV Albus Severus Potter, POV Draco Malfoy, POV Harry Potter, Past Harry Potter/Ginny Weasley, Secret Crush, Smut, Teenage Drama
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-25
Updated: 2020-08-12
Packaged: 2021-03-04 04:41:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 60,083
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24917746
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kkwide/pseuds/kkwide
Summary: Harry Potter, Head Auror, is finishing up after a long day at work, when his boss - and his best friend - Hermione barges into his office, looking completely shocked. There has been a death on the Hogwarts Express. To a parent who only put his three children to the said train that morning, it is undoubtedly the most terrifying news.This is a story about solving a crime, featuring Auror Harry, Hogwarts drama, snarky-but-soft Draco, teenagers, and a suitable amount of fluff and humour.
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter, Ginny Weasley/Other(s), Hermione Granger/Ron Weasley, James Sirius Potter/Other(s)
Comments: 62
Kudos: 301





	1. The impossible cannot have happened

**Author's Note:**

> I might be mad to start yet another story only a day after I finished the last one... Oh, well...Here goes.
> 
> Adding a list of side/mentioned characters to help you guys out as you read this ;)
> 
> Hogwarts teachers:  
> * McGonagall – Headmistress  
> * Cassius Fox – Defence – Head of Gryffindor  
> * Neville – Herbology  
> * Flitwick – Charms – Head of Ravenclaw  
> * Slughorn – Potions – Head of Slytherin  
> * Leonard Moonstone – Transfiguration – Head of Hufflepuff
> 
> Hogwarts students:  
> 7th years:  
> * James Potter - Gryffindor  
> * Fred Weasley - Gryffindor  
> * Charlotte Juniper - Ravenclaw - Head girl  
> * Molly Weasley - Ravenclaw - Prefect  
> 6th years:  
> * Jenna Travers - Hufflepuff  
> * Skylar Westen - Hufflepuff - Prefect  
> * Hazel Scott - Hufflepuff  
> * Stefan Woods - Hufflepuff - Prefect  
> * Nate Riley - Ravenclaw  
> 5th years:  
> * Myrus Longbottom - Gryffindor - Prefect  
> * Dominique Weasley - Gryffindor - Prefect  
> * Lucy Weasley - Ravenclaw - Prefect  
> * Rose Granger-Weasley - Ravenclaw  
> * Roxanne Weasley - Ravenclaw  
> * Hadley Thomas - Ravenclaw - Prefect  
> * Albus Potter - Slytherin  
> * Zachary Zabini - Slytherin  
> * Julian Flint - Slytherin - Prefect  
> * Scorpius Malfoy - Slytherin  
> * Cory Proudmoore - Slytherin  
> * Cecil Parkinson - Slytherin  
> * Kodah Hawthrone - Slytherin - Prefect  
> * Pamela Scott - Hufflepuff - Prefect  
> 3rd years:  
> * Hugo Granger-Weasley - Gryffindor  
> * Lily Potter - Gryffindor  
> * Louis Weasley - Ravenclaw
> 
> Aurors:  
> * Graham Peele  
> * Matt Prone  
> * Medea Bones  
> * Adrian Smith  
> * Susan Higgins  
> * Amber Bletchley  
> * Rubeus Keir  
> * Laurean Quinn  
> * Fiona Walter  
> * William Parkinson  
> * Mordecai Berrycloth  
> * Dorian Fungbury
> 
> Shop workers:  
> * Ron – runs the WwW shop in Hogsmeade  
> * Susan Bones – runs the Three Broomsticks

**Chapter 1:** **The impossible cannot have happened**

**Ministry of Magic, 9 January 2022**

“Alright there, sir?” Peele asks as he walks by Harry’s office while pulling on his robes, finishing for the day. “Long day, eh?”

Peele is Harry’s newest recruit in the Auror forces, a young lanky man, who has only just finished his training in the Academy. Harry reckons Peele is very promising, and reminds him of himself when he was younger. When everything was different.

Harry ceases to rub the bridge of his nose and lifts his head up to meet Peele’s inquiring gaze with his own weary one. “Yeah, long day…” Harry mutters and pushes his glasses back to place. “Thought I came to rest here, but evidently I was wrong,” he jokes feebly, and adds with a small smile, “kids went back to school today.”

Peele chuckles at him, leaning against Harry’s doorframe. “Rough holidays?”

Harry shrugs. “It was all right. But it’s good to be back here,” he says, and then grimaces at the stack of parchments scattered over his table. “Not to this, though. I was away for one week, and actually had problems locating my desk today from under all this.”

Peele nods at him with a smile before taking a step back. “Tomorrow, then.”

“Yeah,” Harry murmurs, his eyes already flickering to the parchments. “Oh, Peele?” He says, remembering something from earlier.

Peele lifts his brows in question. “Sir?”

Harry smiles at him. “Good duelling today. Bones is a tough lady.”

The corners of Peele’s lips quirk up a bit. Harry thinks Peele was brilliant, truth to be told. Harry rarely watches his Aurors training drills due to his workload, but today, he made the exception.

“Thank you, sir,” Peele says modestly.

“All right, then. Get out of here, before you get too smug for your own good,” Harry says good-naturedly.

Peele laughs and nods at him before he takes his leave.

Harry lets out a weary sigh and leans back in his chair, checking his dented old watch that had once belonged to Fabian Prewett. Seven-thirty. He wonders if the kids have already arrived to the Great Hall for the welcome feast. He makes a mental note to write to James the next day, to inquire if anyone has yet contacted him after the Quidditch trials he participated earlier that week.

Harry has mixed feelings of his eldest’s career choices. While he is thrilled that James aspires to be a professional Quidditch player like his mother was, he also thinks that James might be wasting his talents on other areas for a handful of years in Quidditch. Harry knows James is very bright and his grades are outstanding, even with all the mischief he has been up to during the school years. Harry thinks James could do almost anything after Hogwarts.

And perhaps that is why he dislikes his son’s choices. They remind him of what he didn’t have. And they also remind him how James is truly his mother’s son.

Ginny.

Harry chews the inside of his cheek in thought. They really need to tell their children about their separation. They planned to, during the holidays, if not for Ginny’s unanticipated business trip that conveniently took place right after Christmas and is still continuing. And Harry wasn’t going to do it alone, certainly not. But the fact remains that he and Ginny haven’t been living together for quite some time and haven’t been a couple for even longer.

Ginny even has a new _boyfriend_ – and that is really the only term for the bloke, Harry thinks; a bloke who is in his early thirties – Mark. Mark is a French Wizarding Genealogist. Harry had to look that up from the Ministry library, since he wasn’t aware wizards had such professions. Apparently, Wizarding Genealogists trace and keep records of a family lineage in the Ministry of Magic Records Room. Only, Mark is employed by the British Ministry of Magic, keeping records of the British wizards and witches who have French ancestry. Harry remains that that is the most boring job he has ever heard of.

He has come terms with it – his eventual divorce from Ginny. He knows they tried to fix things for a long time, and he also knows that there were no villains in their story – at least not the kind that tried to break up their marriage. They succeeded doing that by themselves; by throwing themselves into work, into their careers, into their children, and at the same time forgetting their relationship. They had many good years together and Harry knows he will cherish those memories. Along with the bad ones.

He lets out another sigh, knowing that there is no use to continue sorting out his mess of a desk when he is feeling so tired. Standing up, Harry stretches his back and briefly wonders if he remembered to eat lunch during the day. Based on the growling sound in his stomach, he thinks not.

He walks to his coat rack and sees his reflection from the window beside it. He’s in a desperate need of a haircut. And a shave, Harry adds to himself in his mind as he scratches his holiday beard. Ginny used to cut his hair, and now that she hasn’t, Harry has let it grow to his shoulders. He keeps it tied back in a bun at the nape of his neck. Something his fourteen-year-old daughter teasingly calls a ‘man bun’. Harry snorts inwardly as he thinks about her; the small girl with her fiery red hair and spirit, and the fact that Harry will be utterly ruled over by her in a couple of years.

Right as he’s buttoning up his robes, getting ready to leave towards his empty home, someone barges into his office.

“Hermione!” Harry exclaims with surprise. And then, as Harry sees his friend’s expression, dread fills his chest. Something has happened. “Hermione, what is it?” Harry asks hurriedly, taking long, quick steps towards her.

Hermione looks terrified; her hair, the usual neat hairdo is all over the place, reminding Harry of their Hogwarts days. Her eyes are shining with tears and her hands are shaking.

“Something’s happened, Harry,” Hermione says, her voice trembling.

“What?” Harry asks frantically, all kinds of possibilities running in his mind.

“There has been a death on the Hogwarts Express.”


	2. Therefore, the impossible must be possible in spite of appearances

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, this is the deal...This story will be told from Harry's, Draco's and Albus's pov (yeah, I know...couldn't just leave it to two? :D).  
> I've written already a lot, but I need to tweak it somewhat before I can post (to get all the mysterious little details in!).
> 
> Also...the rating might change into Explicit (....yep!) on some point. But for now...enjoy!

**Chapter 2: Therefore, the impossible must be possible in spite of appearances**

**Ministry of Magic, 9 January 2022**

“A what?!” Harry gasps, taken aback. “No. No, no, no…” He says, stumbling backwards a couple of steps. “Is it – who is it?!” He asks, almost hysterically. His mind is reeling; _if one of his – no, he can’t even think about it._

Hermione lifts up a calming hand, or perhaps a hand to stop his spiralling painful thoughts – Harry’s not sure which. “None of ours,” she says quickly, reassuringly, knowing what was the very first thought in Harry’s mind. She continues with a grim look and heavy tone, “But a sixth-year girl was found dead in one of the train compartments. Her name was Jenna Travers.”

Air leaves Harry’s lungs, and he swallows hard, his head still spinning. He feels relieved that his children are alive, but terrified as well, since someone – a girl from an old Death Eater family was found dead. He knows it could get ugly. “What do we know?” Harry asks simply, gritting his teeth, forcing himself to calm down, and to do his job.

“McGonagall floocalled me and the Minister only moments ago – I came straight to you,” Hermione says, her voice shaking. She starts to pace in the middle of Harry’s office. “I need you to go there, now,” She adds hurriedly, and even if she hadn’t been giving him the order as Harry’s boss – the Head of the DMLE – Harry would’ve gone there with or without approval.

“How many can I take?” Harry asks then, in his mind already going through a list of his Aurors who are working or on call.

Hermione worries her lip before she shakes her head. “We don’t know what you are up against. Harry –” She says and gives him a frightened look. “What if –”

“Don’t, Hermione,” Harry says tightly, knowing that this is not the time to be desperate. This is the time to act. “I’ll take twelve then,” Harry says after a quick thinking. “Peakes and Figg are on call – they can cover the Office,” Harry states, already waving his wand to conjure a messenger Patronus.

“Code Green. Report to Headquarters,” Harry speaks calmly to the silver stag, feeling quite the opposite, before flicking his wand at it, multiplying it before sending it away.

He notices that his hands are shaking.

“Has anyone else been hurt?” He asks from Hermione as they walk out of his office and towards the space with empty cubicles. Harry’s glad he hasn’t eaten anything, as his stomach twists with nausea.

Hermione shakes her head. “Apparently the girl’s friends found her in the compartment. No one was there, and nothing out of ordinary happened during the train ride, according to them.”

Harry sighs. “Obviously something happened during the train ride. We just need to hope that it is something we can handle,” He mutters sullenly. “Anything else?”

“McGonagall has contacted the girl’s parents; they will likely be at the school soon. She will keep everyone in the Great Hall for now, until your people arrive, and start the investigation.” Hermione says, looking exhausted, trailing a hand over her now unruly hair.

Harry frowns at her. “We need a Portkey – and we need to investigate Hogsmeade, as well as the station.”

Hermione nods at him. “I’ll handle it. I need to talk to the Minister now. And then floocall Ron,” Hermione says wearily. “He’s still at the shop. He might’ve seen something.”

Harry gives her a nod, “A good idea. Ron could perhaps keep an eye out in Hogsmeade until we get there.” He then pauses as he remembers Ginny. “Ginny. I need to inform her,” Harry says, desperately trying to keep his thoughts together.

“I’ll handle it, Harry. Just go there, and do your job,” Hermione says firmly, placing a hand on his shoulder. “I need to go now.”

Harry gives her an absent nod. “Yeah, sure.”

Hermione is already moving towards the elevators. “Oh, and Harry,” She says and turns to look at Harry after pressing the button to summon the lift.

Harry lifts his brows at her.

“I’ll be sending our new crime scene investigator there, to the scene,” she says, and her face becomes even more strained.

She steps into the lift when the doors open. “Please…try to get along,” She says with a small grimace, and before Harry can ask her what the bloody hell she is talking about, the lift’s doors close and she is on her way back to the Minister’s office.

The Aurors start to emerge from the lifts and the Auror office fireplace that is connected to one of the ones in the Atrium.

“Sir,” Smith, an Auror in his mid-thirties, and Bones’s partner, is the first one to walk up to Harry, looking alert but worried at the same time.

He is followed by Parkinson; a young man who trained in the Academy with Peele, along with his partner; Walter.

Harry nods at the incoming witches and wizards and waits patiently for ten minutes, until all fourteen Aurors he summoned have arrived. A silver otter floats through the back wall before he has a chance to say anything.

 _“Harry, the Minister is informed about the situation, and has agreed with your preliminary plans. A Portkey will be supplied to you soon. Report to me when you have reached the scene,”_ the otter speaks in Hermione’s voice.

Harry gives the otter a grim nod. “Will do.” He says and then the Patronus disappears, and Harry turns his focus back to his Aurors.

“A student has been found dead on the Hogwarts Express. Jenna Travers. We do not know much, but as we will be investigating a school with several hundreds of inhabitants, it should be kept in mind that it is possible for a murderer to hide amongst them. We will move with a Portkey –” Harry says, his voice trailing off as the mentioned travelling method – a long thick rope – appears next to him with a loud crack.

“And we will proceed with Berrycloth, Fungbury, Keir and Quinn–” He says, nodding his head at the four more experienced Aurors,” – to Hogsmeade village, station and the train with me. The rest of you; Peele, Prone, Bones, Smith, Higgins, Bletchley, Walter and Parkinson – you will be inside the school and on school grounds. Peakes and Figg will cover the Office.”

Harry detects shocked looks and some murmuring, but everyone is quick on their moves to unholster their wands and switch into their Auror gear; a uniform charmed with basic defensive spells to throw off some of the milder hexes and jinxes. After a short moment, the group of Aurors grab the rope, one by one, before the Portkey starts to glow in blue, indicating that it will be soon activated.

“Constant vigilance,” Harry warns his Aurors a moment before they are whisked away from their Headquarters.

* * *

**Hogwarts, 9 January 2022**

Seconds later, all Aurors land with a collective thud, still gracefully on their feet, in front of the school gates. Headmistress McGonagall stands there waiting, along with Neville Longbottom.

“Headmistress,” Harry greets McGonagall with a grim smile. “Neville,” he adds. “Good to see you.”

Neville grins at Harry through his worried expression, while McGonagall gives him a wry look. “I do not have the time to remind you that we are in a first name basis, Harry, but may I say, that we are the ones who are glad to see you,” she says in her strict way, although Harry can detect relief in her tone.

Harry gives her a curt nod. “I have eight Aurors for school and grounds. The rest of us will move to search the village and the train,” he says promptly.

McGonagall seems satisfied. “That will do. The students are still in the Great Hall. Is it safe for us to move them into their common rooms with their Heads of Houses?”

“Perhaps one of mine could join each house?” Harry asks and glances at the Aurors before giving McGonagall a questioning look.

McGonagall nods in agreement. “That would make me more at ease, if it is possible in a situation like this.”

“Higgins, Bletchley, Walter and Parkinson will be stationed in common rooms,” Harry says, giving orders quickly, “Peele and Prone will search the school, while Bones and Smith investigate the grounds.”

The Aurors mutter their agreements.

“Mr and Mrs Travers are in my office, waiting news about the investigation. They were also asking to see their daughter’s body after the scene has been searched,” McGonagall says wearily.

Harry gives McGonagall and Neville a tight nod. “I’m meeting with the crime scene investigator shortly, and will report to you after I’ve searched and examined the train and the…the victim. I can give the parents a status report then, but we might not know much at that point. Anything else to add?” Harry asks from his former Head of House and classmate, forcing his voice to stay calm, even if his heart is thumping wildly. What exactly will he find in the train?

Neville shakes his head, still looking anxious. “Just tell us if there is something we can do to help?”

Harry frowns, thinking fast. “We need to check everyone’s wands,” he says grimly.

McGonagall looks rather bothered by the thought of her students or faculty being examined, but nods slowly. “You do what you must.”

“Thank you, Headmistress,” Harry says before turning to his team of Aurors assigned to the school. “You know the drill.”

And with that, McGonagall and Neville escort the eight Aurors into the school.

Harry and the four remaining Aurors leave towards the village and station.

“Sir?” Quinn; a strikingly good-looking bloke in his mid-thirties – Harry’s assessment that he hasn’t shared with anyone beyond his own mind – and an excellent combat trainer; an opinion he shares with all of his Aurors, asks, as he falls into step with Harry.

“Yeah?” Harry mutters, his mind already going through the possible threats they might confront. He glances at Quinn, whose grim expression doesn’t falter as he speaks to his boss.

Harry calls it the ‘Auror face’.

“Are we expecting hostile resistance?”

Harry sighs inwardly. He hates not knowing what he is up against. “We don’t know yet. Keep your head down and assume the worst,” he says with a grim smile.

Quinn nods in agreement and then gestures everyone to be alert when a figure approaches them in the darkness.

“Stop at once! State your business!” Quinn yells, his wand at the ready.

There’s a frustrated groan. “Untwist your knickers, Quinn, it’s only me!” Ron yells and a second later, he lights up his wand.

“Ron,” Harry breathes out in relief, feeling calmer, now that his friend is there.

Ron walks up to Harry and pulls him into a bear hug. “They’re all right, mate,” He murmurs into Harry’s ear, and Harry knows that Ron was, and still probably is, as worried as he has been.

“Been lifting weights, Fungbury?” Ron asks with a teasing smile as he slaps his old workmates on their shoulders, sharing quick grins with them.

Fungbury shoves Ron, but grins at him all the same. “I see you haven’t.”

Ron smirks back. “Ouch.” He then sobers and turns to Harry. “What can I do?”

Harry assigns orders; Keir, Quinn, Fungbury and Ron will search the village and question its inhabitants, while Harry and Berrycloth will go to search the station and the train and to examine the crime scene. Everyone moves quickly towards their destinations, agreeing to report to Harry by the hour or if something comes up.

* * *

“What’s the matter with you?” Albus hisses next to Scorpius’s ear. “You’ve been acting weird since the train!” He continues exasperatedly.

Albus thinks his friend has been off since New Year’s Eve, truth to be told.

Scorpius shifts in his seat, taking a surreptitious glance around them, but Albus knows nobody’s paying attention to them. Everyone is focusing on taking their seats at their house tables, eagerly waiting for the feast to start, or still emerging into the Great Hall from their carriages.

“It’s nothing. Just feeling a bit off, nothing more,” Scorpius murmurs back to his friend, averting his eyes from Albus’s.

And that itself is enough to tell Albus that something is bothering his friend. Based on his past experiences, Albus has proved to be rather good at reading Scorpius. He knows there’s something Scorpius is not telling, but he reckons that his friend will talk to him about it eventually.

He gives Scorpius one last scrutinising look, and then follows his line of sight. Scorpius is watching James, Albus’s brother, who is in the process of scowling at them. He glances back to Scorpius and sees his friend’s jaw tightening, and has an idea of what could be the issue.

Albus lets out a small scoff. “I can’t believe he thinks he can be angry about…about anything! I mean, after what he did at the party, after sticking his nose into my business – I mean, I’m the one who’s entitled to be angry, if someone is!” he growls. “Right?”

Scorpius moves his eyes quickly away from James and glances at his friend. “Yeah. Sure, mate.” He mutters.

Albus gives Scorpius an incredulous look, having been hoping that he could snap his friend away from whatever it is that is bothering him.

Since James is certainly annoying the pants out of him.

“Fine, then,” he mutters as his friend stays quiet and unresponsive.

Albus’s focus falters as he notices that their classmates are about to join them and take their seats at the table. There's Cory; a black-haired boy with a long nose and toothy grin, who sits down on the seat next to Albus and gives him an upward nod. Cecil; a slender boy with sharp angles and long brown hair and Julian; who is a bit bulkier than Cecil take their seats across the table.

Their group is completed when Zachary sits down on Cory’s other side. They quickly start exchanging their holiday stories, and Albus tells the others about their Christmas. _Their_ – as in Albus’s and Scorpius’s, since Scorpius spent his holidays with Albus’s family, while Scorpius’s father was abroad for work. Well, it was mostly Scorpius with Albus and his siblings, since Albus’s mum was called to some emergency business trip right after Christmas, and his dad was working half of the holiday, and spending almost the other half with James at his Quidditch try-outs – Albus begrudgingly admits that his brother is a rather exceptional player, and probably will make a contract with one of the teams in the British League.

Scorpius listens quietly, seeming almost relieved to not be taking part in the conversation, and only looks somewhat amused as Albus tells the others a very colourful version of their New Year’s party. Well, _James’s_ party. Albus grits his teeth together.

When Zachary and Cory – who had both stayed at the school for the holidays – snigger as they explain every amusing event that took place there; how sozzled some of the teachers were at Christmas dinner and how they tried to hide it from the students, how they managed to beat a group of sixth and seventh-years in a _friendly_ snowball fight, and how they had the chance to prank the Hufflepuff Head of House by sneaking into the greenhouses and leaving a present in the form of a dung bomb to him, Albus wonders if Scorpius would’ve preferred to have stayed in the school as well. He certainly wouldn’t have wanted to stay at home, Albus knows at least that much.

He knows that Scorpius doesn’t get along with his father that well, and that his friend hasn’t really spent time with the man after his mother passed away a couple of years ago. It has always been either Albus staying with them, or Scorpius with the Potters. Mostly the latter way.

Albus also knows that Scorpius doesn’t hate his father, even if he makes it seem like he does some days. He reckons that Scorpius and his father are merely too different – not in appearance, as they look so much alike; they both have blonde hair and an impossibly good posture, sharp angles and grey eyes. Only…Albus thinks there’s something inexplicably _softer_ in Scorpius’s character, compared to his father. Something, Albus thinks comes from Scorpius’s mother’s side. No, even if the father and son look like one another, they still have very little in common otherwise.

Albus should know – as he himself is the least like anyone else in his family, compared to James and his Quidditch-stardom and brilliance, and Lily with her fiery and reckless Gryffindor nature. It’s almost funny, when Albus thinks about it – his siblings are so much like their parents, and their grandparents. But Albus… Albus is the black sheep. The one that doesn’t really belong. The Slytherin of the family. He only looks like the spitting image of his father. While both James and Lily share some similarities in their appearance with their father – James has bright green eyes, and Lily wears glasses – Albus still thinks his siblings have more Weasley characteristics than anything; Lily’s hair is long and flaming red, and her eyes are brown, just like their mother’s. James’s hair is more coppery tone, but paired with his freckles and the mischievous grin, there’s no doubt that he’s a Weasley.

And Scorpius – he really should’ve been in Ravenclaw. Albus has a strong suspicion that Scorpius had begged the Sorting Hat to put him into Slytherin, to make his father happy. To not cause a scandal to their family. Like Albus had.

Their holiday wasn’t the most brilliant one, at least nothing like last year. But it wasn’t that bad. _Well, perhaps their little stint to London was_ , Albus thinks with an inward grimace. They had – Albus had – had an idea; the two of them exploiting the nightlife in London during their holidays, as they were quite free to come and go as they wished. It wasn’t like they had any parents watching them at all times.

And later on, Albus did admit to Scorpius that the plan had been an idiotic one, since they really didn’t get into any of the Muggle pubs they tried to, even with their charmed ID’s. As they were unable to use magic outside Albus’s home due to being underage, they had thought their fake Muggle ID’s would’ve done the trick. But no. Apparently, neither of them looks old enough to be eighteen, Albus reckons.

His contemplation is disturbed by an uproar of laughter originating from, where else, but the Gryffindor table. _The noisy gits,_ Albus thinks with mild annoyance. He watches absently as his brother, his cousin Fred and their friend Jordan howl in laughter, while their classmates sit next to them, shaking their heads with amusement. Bitterness flares in the bottom of his stomach as he thinks how his brother had managed to screw things up for him.

Albus chews the inside of his cheek, thinking back the train ride. And what _she_ had said to him. It had been James’s fault. Albus is certain there would be nothing to say, nothing to reveal, if James hadn’t been a tosser.

He lets out a small huff of annoyance; as if it hadn’t been enough that he went and fell for one of the mindless girls that only seek his company because of his looks, but then James had to cock things up even further.

Three months ago, Albus wasn’t laughing at that. Not that he is laughing now. He had thought it was different, that _she_ was different. But he was proved wrong, in the most painful and embarrassing way. The thrill of snogging the boy who looks like the Saviour, is apparently, quite remarkable. Scorpius’s words, not Albus’s, he reckons.

Albus thinks for a bit if he ought to do something about what happened during the holidays – with her – but eventually decides to ponder it later, when he’s in the privacy of his own four-poster bed, and proceeds to join in the conversation with his dormmates.

A moment later, Albus notices that Scorpius is even more aloof than he typically is. Albus knows that chatting with others is more his thing than Scorpius’s, he knows that while Scorpius does get along with others, he usually prefers to stay quiet and listen, watching the participants carefully. Albus often wonders if his friend is feeling lonely sometimes, as he hasn’t seen Scorpius really spend time with anyone else but him.

But now, his friend is not even pretending to listen to his classmates, and lets his gaze trail over the Great Hall; with worry and annoyance mixing in his features.

Albus follows his friend’s example, and sees that nearly all of the students have sat down, but most of the teachers are missing. He wonders what time it is, and how long will it take until the feast starts. He’s starving. He glances at the doors that lead to the Entrance Hall, and sees something peculiar.

Professors Fox, Longbottom and Moonstone are in the middle of an intense discussion with three students – sixth year Hufflepuffs; Skylar Westen, Stefan Woods and Nate Riley. Albus can’t see their faces and expressions, as they are situated on the other end of the hall, but wonders what it is about.

Albus frowns at the Hufflepuffs, before turning towards his friend. “What do you think, mate?” Albus mutters and nudges Scorpius, evidently pulling him from his thoughts.

“Huh?” Scorpius hums as he turns to Albus, after clearing his expression into a blank one.

Albus jerks his chin towards the group of teachers and students lingering at the doors leading to the Entrance Hall.

This manages to pull their classmates from the discussion, and then, all of them stare at the gathering.

The longer Albus watches the occurrence, the more he feels restlessness trickling down his spine. The conversation is interrupted by a strained looking Headmistress, who quiets everyone up as soon as she walks up to them. Albus sees them exchange a couple of words before the Headmistress walks briskly towards the other end of the Hall, towards the teachers’ table.

There’re sounds of murmur and whispers along the Hall. Most of the students have noticed the peculiar behaviour of their professors.

“Something’s not right,” Cory whispers, a deep frown between his brows. “They’re staying put,” he continues, still watching the group of teachers with the three students close to the Entrance Hall.

“May I have your attention!” McGonagall speaks loudly, her voice higher than usual.

There are several students murmuring in every table.

_“ – What’s going on?”_

_“Has something happened – “_

_“ – Where’s the food – “_

“Silence, everyone!” McGonagall yells, and manages to take everyone by surprise.

The Headmistress takes a steadying breath, while the teachers at their table keep glancing at her with a mix of worried and shocked expressions.

“I have a bad feeling about this,” Albus whispers, almost silently.

Scorpius nods and swallows hard.

McGonagall watches the students gravely. “There has been an incident in the train. A girl…a girl has been found dead – “

There’s a collective gasp and then – several people start to scream in shock, and even more people jump to their feet, their wands at the ready, many voices shouting over each other with panic-laced voices.

McGonagall lifts her both hands up. “Everyone, sit down!” She orders with a loud and harsh voice, before she continues, “And for the love of Merlin, please calm down!”

Albus takes a look around him, seeing the shocked expressions of his classmates, before he quickly starts to locate his siblings and cousins in the Great Hall. He needs to see that they’re all there, that they are not…not the –

“Shit, Scor, can you see –” He breathes unsteadily, his hands trembling.

“Yes, I can. They’re all here,” Scorpius tells him quietly, his sharp eyes moving across the Hall.

Albus finally locates James, Fred, Dominique, Hugo and Lily at the Gryffindor table; and then Rose, Roxanne, Louis, Molly and Lucy at the Ravenclaw table. The ache in his chest decreases a bit. He then notices several others doing what he is doing, while the Headmistress continues to speak.

“The Aurors have been called to investigate the matter. I do not know much, yet. I do not know if there are other people associated with the incident. All I know, is that the safest place for everyone is here, in this school, in this hall. Stay put, and do not panic,” McGonagall says sternly.

“Dad…” Albus mutters, feeling somewhat relieved that his father is coming there, and knowing that everything will be all right then. His father is good at what he does.

But he is not there, now. Albus moves his focus to Scorpius and his classmates. “We need to do something,” Albus states, chewing the inside of his cheek, watching his friends with what Scorpius has identified as ‘the reckless Gryffindor gaze’ – and teased Albus mercilessly about it, telling his friend that it must run in the family.

Zachary rolls his eyes at him from Cory’s other side. “I hope you are taking the piss, Potter,” He scoffs and then turns his focus back to McGonagall.

“I ask for prefects from each house, as well as the Head Boy and Girl to step forward for further instructions,” McGonagall states, and then turns briefly towards the other professors, to exchange words with them.

The hall is filled with anxious voices, whispers, murmurs, silent crying, nervous shifting and frightened gazes. The prefects from each house, all twenty-four of them quickly make their way to the front, towards the Headmistress and most of the professors.

“Who do you think is dead?” Zachary asks quietly, his eyes quickly moving across the Slytherin table.

Albus notices that Scorpius has been doing the exact same thing.

“No one from our house, it seems,” Scorpius mutters after a moment.

Albus still feels the anxiousness and nausea curling in his stomach. He manages to catch his brother’s eye from the Gryffindor table, gives him an intent stare, a questioning look. James looks back steadily, before shaking his head slightly; indicating that no one of the Gryffindor house is missing from the Hall. Albus gives his brother a similar kind of gesture.

“None of the Gryffindors, either,” Albus tells his friends.

Scorpius watches Albus’s silent conversation with his brother curiously, before speaking, “So, either a Hufflepuff or a Ravenclaw,” he says.

Albus does the eye-thing again with Rose at the Ravenclaw table; who has evidently done a similar check-up with her own house table as she gives Albus a worried shake of her head. There’s something Albus cannot identify in her expression. She seems…more than worried. Terrified, even. He knows Rose is not easily shocked. Albus has an uncomfortable thought that perhaps Rose…knows who it is.

Albus frowns deeply at his cousin before moving his gaze at the table.

“What is it?” Scorpius whispers, his eyes moving between Albus and Rose, his features guarded.

Albus glances at his friend. “Nothing. She’s just…I dunno,” he murmurs, before turning his focus back to his friends. “It’s a Hufflepuff.”

“Figures…” Zachary mutters under his breath.

Albus lifts his brows at him. “Really, Zabini?” He says with a bored voice. He’s very fond of his friends, but sometimes, they can be complete wankers.

“ – Or someone who doesn’t go to this school,” Cecil murmurs, watching Julian’s face intently to take any hints, as said classmate who is one of the fifth year prefects, stands rigidly in front of the teachers' table and listens the instructions from Slughorn.

Cory narrows his eyes at Cecil. “Unlikely. The train doesn’t take in outsiders. There are wards to prevent that sort of thing…”

Albus shares a grim look with his classmates. What is left unsaid – what Albus reckons is undoubtedly in everyone’s minds – is the question whether it was an accident, or if there is a murderer in their midst.


	3. Me, I suspect everybody till the last minute

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enjoy! :) (with typos and all)

**Chapter 3:** **Me, I suspect everybody till the last minute**

**Hogsmeade, 9 January 2022**

He stands in the doorway, taking in the scene, his eyes swiftly moving over the compartment, making note of everything out of the ordinary. He performs several detecting spells to identify possible enchantments that could be associated with the incident. After finding none, he flicks a charm at his shoes to not leave any prints, and walks inside the compartment.

He spends a good ten minutes carefully inspecting the girl – a sixth year Hufflepuff, he was told. He notices the way she is positioned; in an odd angle on the floor, slightly curled into herself. Next to her is a bench that has a wooden edge streaked with blood. Aside from the obvious cause of her severe head injury – the one from which the pool of blood surrounding the girl is originated – there’s a thick book behind her, lying on the floor. His eyes flicker to one of its corners that is facing the ceiling and not in contact with the blood on the floor – that too is darkened with blood.

He crouches over the book to take a better look at it.

Voices carry over to him from the distance. Someone is moving in the corridor, walking closer to him.

He glances over his shoulder to the door in the exact moment as two men appear at the doorframe. The other one lets out a disbelieving scoff.

“What the hell are you doing in here, _Malfoy_?” Potter, one of the two Aurors, asks, and when Draco stands up and turns to give him and the other one an unimpressed look, he continues, “This is a crime scene! You have no permission to be here!” He shouts, lifting his wand towards Draco.

Draco arches a brow at him, forcing himself to not let his eyes drop down to Potter’s outstretched wand. “How kind of you to point it out, Potter,” He hisses, and then takes in Potter’s mixed look of anger and confusion and realises something. “Didn’t our beaver-toothed boss tell you I’d be here?”

Potter still watches him with incredulity, but then – and Draco really tries not to smirk as he sees it, but fails brilliantly – Potter’s expression changes, at first into a deep contemplative frown, before the utter and terrified shock takes over his features.

He lets out a wheezing huff and stammers incoherently, “You! She – she said – and, and – bloody fuck!” Potter growls, trailing a hand over his unruly mop of hair. “You’re the bloody crime scene investigator!”

Draco gives Potter a dry look. “In the flesh.”

Potter gapes at him, his neck turning red. “I…I need a minute.” He grunts and then he’s off, walking briskly away, with the other Auror following him.

Draco lets out a weary sigh, closing his eyes to centre himself, but flinches when Potter’s stomping feet bring him back only seconds later.

“What the hell, Malfoy?” Potter asks crossly, his green eyes blazing. “Crime scene investigator or not, you ought to wait until the Aurors check the surroundings for imminent threats and clear the scene for you. You should know this from your training,” He says pointedly, his eyes narrowing slightly as he gives Draco a once over.

Draco rolls his eyes at Potter. “Oh, please,” he drawls. “A four-year-old could cast a simple _Homenum Revelio_ along with the basic magic detection spells.”

Potter scoffs, his face twisting, before he grits his teeth together, evidently to keep himself from lashing out, Draco reckons. He’s quite enjoying the conversation so far.

Potter lets out a frustrated and desperate noise, and then stomps away again, grunting orders to the other Auror.

Draco shakes his head slightly and resumes his inspection. He is not daft; _of course,_ he had done all the necessary detection spells to make sure the train was indeed empty and trap-free, before he approached the scene.

There was nothing out of the ordinary with the train’s wards, or with the train; nor had there been any outsiders passing the wards, matching up quite well to what the train driver and the trolley witch had told him. And why had he proceeded the way he had, one might ask? Draco knows the importance of examining the body without delay – he knows that some evidence; potions, for example, might be difficult to identify after a certain amount of time had passed.

Ten minutes later, Potter arrives again, alone this time, a small frown between his brows. Time, during which Draco has identified the preliminary cause of death; traumatic brain injury, along with the fact that every speck of blood in the compartment is from the girl. He thinks it is rather curious.

“So, the wards were not breached by outsiders,” Potter says expressionlessly. “Neither the driver nor the trolley lady saw anything out of ordinary.”

Draco hums thoughtfully as he inspects the girl more closely, waving his wand slowly over her frame, performing more diagnostic charms. “Yes, I know.” He doesn’t see Potter, since he has his back on him, but practically hears the way Potter rolls his eyes at him.

“Of course, you do. Why would you let the Aurors do their jobs?” Potter says sharply. “Should’ve known this is what she meant,” He continues, grumbling under his breath.

Draco wonders briefly if the _she_ Potter mentioned, would be their boss, and what exactly the lovely Mrs Granger-Weasley had said to Potter. He takes in a calming breath before glancing at Potter, a blank look in his eyes. “Surely, as the Head Auror, you are more than capable to focus on the job, Potter, and not who you are paired with,” he says icily.

Potter narrows his eyes, but his cheeks tinge slightly with red. He licks his lips before stating calmly. “Of course. What have you got?”

Draco is mildly surprised by Potter’s behaviour, since he himself is bursting with the need to insult the specky git. But apparently, they are adults now, and capable of focusing on other things as well. “The blood on the book and bench are hers, in addition to what is spilled on the floor. No traces of dark magic,” he says, before turning back to continue the inspection, crouching closer to the girl.

“What about the cause of death?” Potter asks firmly, murmuring a similar spell than Draco had to his shoes before stepping into the compartment.

“Traumatic brain injury,” Draco says, pointing a finger at the wound in the girl’s head. “No damage, bruising or wounds elsewhere.” He flicks his wand a couple of more times before adding, “Time of death appears to be approximately two to three hours ago.”

Potter hums thoughtfully, and Draco stands up once more, turning towards Potter to watch him frown at his timepiece on his wrist.

“Two hours ago, the train arrived to Hogsmeade,” Potter mutters at his watch, and then takes in the scene with a focused frown.

His contemplative eyes move across the girl, the pool of blood on the floor, stopping on the edge of the bench, and then flickering to the blood-stained book. He hums thoughtfully and steps closer to the girl, watching curiously at the girl’s posture and the way she seems to be squeezing her wand in her hand.

Potter pulls his wand and flicks it gently against the girl’s wand. “ _Prior Incantato_ ,” Potter whispers, and a wand movement for the last spell of the wand appears in the air between them, gleaming in silver.

“A Locking Spell,” Draco says quietly, his mind spinning with possibilities.

Potter nods, glancing behind him at the door, a calculating look in his eyes. “I wonder…” Potter mutters, and then stands up to wave his wand towards the door, to inspect the magic placed upon it.

“There’s a Locking Spell…but…I cannot detect any Unlocking Charms,” Potter states, glancing at Draco.

Potter narrows his eyes again at the girl. “It is possible that she merely locked the door to change into her robes,” he says, glancing at the neat pile of school robes on the opposite bench, “and then she…slipped and hit her head to the bench.”

Draco watches Potter silently. “How would you explain the book? Or the unlocked door?”

Potter chews the corner of his mouth. “The book; she could’ve been holding it, or tried to grab it before she lost consciousness…but the door…” He says, and glances at it, performing the detecting spells again.

“The door, I cannot explain,” Potter says slowly, before letting out a long sigh, and then curses under his breath. “I need to go question the students who found her, along with the prefects who were patrolling the corridors – perhaps one of them saw something that could help us with this.”

Draco gives him a curt nod. “I will analyse her blood for potions and poisons, examine the wound more closely and do some diagnostic spells before I’m ready.”

Potter rubs the bridge of his nose, his glasses moving slightly up. “Her parents are at McGonagall’s office. I’ll talk to them about the situation, but they will most likely want to see her before you send the body to the morgue,” Potter tells him wearily.

“You can send them here in an hour,” Draco tells him, knowing that he doesn’t _want_ to work alongside with mourning parents, but also knowing how important it is for them to see their child. And Draco didn’t always think like that… It was Scorpius, who made him like this, made him feel…compassion, apparently.

“Okay, thanks. Then, I suppose, meet me at the Three Broomsticks, let’s say…” Potter mutters, checking his watch, “in three hours. If you’re done by then, that is?” He asks, giving Draco an inquiring look.

Draco thinks quickly how long it will take to collect and analyse all the evidence with the probable interruptions. “I should be,” he says after a short moment.

“Do you want me to pass on a message?” Potter asks, all annoyance and dislike absent from his bright green eyes.

Draco blinks, momentarily speechless, reminded of another time, another night; the last time he talked with Potter. The last time he saw that innocent, sincere look in his eyes. He swallows hard and forces those memories to somewhere deep in his mind, allowing the envy and indifference to surface. He has always had mixed feelings regarding Potter, and only understood them after he had reached adulthood, long after he had married Astoria.

When Draco doesn’t say anything, Potter lifts his brows, “Malfoy? Want me to pass on a message to Scorpius?”

Draco clears his throat. “No. No need,” he says quietly, not quite able to hold Potter’s gaze.

Potter stares at him for a bit, before he nods and takes his leave.

Once he is positive that he’s alone, Draco lets his shoulders sag down, taking in several deep breaths before continuing his inspection.

* * *

**Hogwarts, 9 January 2022**

Harry walks silently along the familiar path towards the front doors of the school. It has been quite some time since he last visited the place; it was probably Teddy’s graduation, he reckons.

Keir and Quinn trudge behind him, murmuring quietly as they approach the school. Harry left Berrycloth, Fungbury and Ron to the station and Hogsmeade. His friend was not pleased, but understood that he could not really provide them help in taking statements at Hogwarts, as he was no longer officially an Auror – and Harry insisted that he would be most useful at the village, which he knows like the back of his hand. Harry still promised Ron to check up on his children. And his brothers’ children. Which Harry thinks will probably take at least an hour, since there are so many of them.

He feels overwhelmed already, even though the night is only beginning, and he knows that it will be several hours before he can even dream of catching a bit of sleep.

“Sir,” Bones greets Harry, Keir and Quinn from the foot of the stairs that lead to the front door.

Harry gives Bones a nod. “Anything to report?”

Bones shakes her head, an expressionless look on her face. “Nothing unusual on the grounds or inside the school.

Harry frowns, knowing that they’d better find something soon to eliminate the threat. There are too many people who _might_ be in danger, and too few to protect them, as most of the students are underage.

As they step into the Entrance Hall, Harry greets Professor Moonstone – the Head of Hufflepuff house. The girl was one of the students in his house.

“Potter. Long time, no see,” Moonstone says steadily.

Which Harry thinks is not actually the truth, since he floocalled Moonstone only the previous week – but, they haven’t seen each other _in person_ for a long time.

Moonstone’s not ten years older than Harry, but he was Harry’s teacher for a short while. They met, when Harry went back to Hogwarts to take his NEWTs. They spent some additional time together, mostly when Moonstone helped Harry with his Transfiguration skills, and during those times they talked. About the war, magic, their pasts, and everything else under the sun. After Harry’s graduation, they became friends.

Moonstone is immaculately dressed, as always, his brown hair neatly done, but his owlish features now darkened with seriousness. Harry nods at the man. “Moonstone.”

“The Headmistress is with Miss Travers’s parents, expecting us there shortly. I have been in touch with the school governors, and asked them to inform the students’ families about the…incident. There will evidently be concerned parents arriving to the village tomorrow,” He says, and glances at Bones, Keir and Quinn before moving his eyes back to Harry. “Shall we?”

Harry gives him an agreeing gesture to lead the way, and Moonstone does so. “Longbottom is keeping company to one of your Aurors stationed in my house,” Moonstone explains as they take a detour from the Entrance hall, slipping behind a tapestry and making their way through the narrow passage towards upstairs.

They are quiet, until they reach McGonagall’s office.

“ _Glacius_ ,” Moonstone says to the gargoyle in front of the entrance to the Headmistress’s office.

The gargoyle leaps away, revealing the familiar circling stairs Harry hasn’t seen in such a long time. The stairs take them upstairs, and after knocking to the door and hearing a quiet ‘ _enter’_ , they step into McGonagall’s office.

It is quite different from what it was when Dumbledore had been there. Bittersweet memories lift their head in the far corner of his mind as Harry takes in the room; all the peculiar trinkets and apparatuses are gone, replaced by practical bookshelves and chests of drawers. There’s a seating area in front of the fireplace, occupied by McGonagall who looks very tired, and very devastated looking man and woman. The man with dark short hair and pointy nose is not much older than Harry is, while the woman who is blonde and willowy, is definitely younger.

“Good evening,” McGonagall says to Harry, Moonstone, and the Aurors. She then turns to the man and woman. “This is Auror Potter, who will be leading the investigation,” McGonagall says, gesturing at Harry. “Auror Potter, meet Mr and Mrs Travers,” She continues, as they all stand up.

Harry greets the parents politely.

McGonagall gives him a strained smile. “Auror Potter, why don’t you take a seat with us – I believe we all would like to hear an update about the situation.”

He then explains what they have established so far; that nothing out of ordinary was found from the village, the station, or from the school. He tells the parents that his crime scene investigator is still investigating the scene, and that they can go see their daughter in a bit over thirty minutes if they so wish.

He tells them and the Headmistress, that Miss Travers’s death occurred before the train reached Hogsmeade. When he tells them the cause of death; a severe head injury caused by an impact to her head, the mother, Mrs Travers, bursts into tears.

McGonagall sniffs and gives Harry a horrified look.

Harry gives the parents a moment to collect themselves before he continues, explaining that he didn’t find any traces of magic of anyone else except their daughter’s in the compartment.

“What does that mean?” Mr Travers whispers, looking anxious.

Harry chews the inside of his cheek, remembering the book and the edge of the bench, both streaked with blood. “She had a wand on her hand. Her last spell was a locking charm, which I detected from the door. But I could not detect an unlocking charm. Yet, somehow, the charm broke,” Harry says gravely.

Mrs Travers gasps, while McGonagall gives Harry a contemplative look.

Moonstone clears his throat behind them. “Miss Westen and Mr Woods – the prefects who found Jenna, and who were also her close friends – informed us that the door had been closed but unlocked,” Moonstone says slowly, a deep frown between his brows. “They saw no one else there.”

Harry gives Moonstone’s words a contemplative moment. “We need to question them – all of the Prefects. I assume they were all patrolling the train during the trip?” Harry asks, looking from Moonstone to McGonagall.

McGonagall nods. “You may certainly question them in the company of their Head of House, but should there be a need for more _thorough_ interrogation,” she says, giving Harry a pointed look, “you must know, that you will need a permission from the child’s guardian.”

“Naturally,” Harry says. Merlin, he hopes it will not go to that – Veritaserum or Legilimency, that is. “Is there anyone else besides the Prefects and Head Boy and Girl, we should talk with? Anyone, who was in close relations with Miss Travers?”

“Nate Riley,” Mr Travers says, his voice hoarse. “Nate and – and Jenna. They were dating.”

Harry nods slowly, watching as Keir writes everything down into a small notebook. “He is from Hufflepuff as well?”

“Mr Riley is from the Ravenclaw house, but I presume he is currently in the Hufflepuff common room?” McGonagall says, giving an inquiring brow at Moonstone, who nods back at her.

“May I suggest that you carry out the questioning in the offices of the Head of House? Meanwhile, I would like to keep one of your Aurors in each house common room, just in case,” McGonagall says.

Harry agrees, and tells McGonagall that he will first summon all his Aurors to the Entrance Hall to have them updated before moving on with the investigation. McGonagall tells them that they will have until midnight, and after that the students should be allowed to turn in for the night.

The parents leave with Moonstone, who escorts them to the station to see their daughter. Harry agrees that he or one of his Aurors will meet them in the village the next day to give them an update about the investigation.

Harry knows they are on a tight schedule, and they most likely will not have time to question everyone before midnight, as it is already nine-thirty in the evening. Regardless, he summons the rest of his Aurors stationed in the school to meet him, Bones, Keir and Quinn in the Entrance Hall, from where they proceed into a small classroom down the hall.

“So, to make it short; nothing unusual was found on the school grounds, inside the school, at the station, or at the village. We are still not sure whether the girl was a murder victim, or if her death was caused by an accident – nor do we know if other people can be connected to the incident. There are some things that do not add up; she locked the door of the compartment she was found from with a spell, but there weren’t any unlocking charms placed on it afterwards. However, according to the students who found her, the door was unlocked. There also seem to be two possibilities how the wound in her head – and the severe head injury that is the cause of her death – could have been caused. Our crime scene investigator can confirm the cause later,” Harry explains after locking and securing the door with silencing charms.

His Aurors stare at him with speculative and grim looks.

“What about the train?” Bones’s partner Smith – a red-haired, thirty-something year old man – asks, “Did the driver or the trolley lady see anything?”

Harry gives a quick shake of his head. “The train driver and the trolley lady were both questioned. They had not seen or heard anything abnormal. The train wards were not breached by outsiders,” he says, and Smith, along with several others, seem slightly disappointed.

Higgins, Bletchley, Walter and Parkinson give Harry reports about the wand-check process; nearly half of the students’ wands have already been inspected, but nothing alarming – and no Unlocking Spells – has come up yet.

“Berrycloth, Fungbury and Weasley are patrolling the station and Hogsmeade,” Harry continues, “Higgins, Bletchley, Walter and Parkinson will go back to the common rooms until we have cleared the threat – expect a nightshift, and communicate if there is anything suspicious,” Harry says to the Aurors in question; who all nod grimly.

“Peele and Prone, you patrol the school corridors, while Bones, Smith, Keir, Quinn and myself will start questioning prefects, the Head Boy and Girl, as well as the late Miss Travers’ boyfriend,” Harry says, and then gives the Aurors more specific instructions about who will be questioning prefects from which house.

He gives Gryffindor to Bones, Slytherin to Smith, Ravenclaw to Keir and then heads towards the kitchens and the Hufflepuff common room with Quinn and Higgins.

“Let’s start with Miss Westen, shall we?” Harry tells Quinn with a low voice, as they stop in front of a pile of large barrels.

Quinn gives Harry a curious look. “Why her? Why not the boyfriend, who probably accompanied her in the train?”

Harry narrows his eyes at the barrels. “I have a feeling.”

Quinn doesn’t say anything, but his lips twitch slightly upwards.

Harry taps the barrel two from the bottom, middle of the second row, with the rhythm of ‘Helga Hufflepuff’, as McGonagall instructed to his Aurors, when Harry had been visiting the crime scene.

The barrel turns into a narrow and low passage going upwards. Harry nods at Quinn and Higgins before they enter, one behind the other, ending up into the cosy and round common room decorated with bright yellow and black and with several tables and chairs here and there as well as with plants and flowers hanging from the walls and the ceiling.

Harry would have liked to marvel the atmosphere in the room, study the portraits - especially the one of Helga Hufflepuff holding her famous cup - and sit by the fireplace in one of the very comfortable looking armchairs, but he had a job to do. Harry’s eyes sweep over the students in the room, meeting mostly frightened expressions. His eyes stop at a group of three; a girl with tear-streaked face, a boy who looks shaken, and another one with a haunted expression etched on his face.

“Harry,” Neville greets quietly as he steps closer to Harry, Quinn and Higgins.

Harry gives Neville a small, tight smile and gestures at Higgins. “Auror Higgins will be stationed here for the night,” he murmurs the words, as approximately seventy pairs of eyes watch their conversation carefully.

Neville gives him an understanding nod. “And I will stay here until Leonard returns,” he says kindly. “Do you know where his office is?”

Harry feels a flicker of amusement, and briefly wonders how many times he has actually visited the office, both during McGonagall’s time and Moonstone’s. “I believe so,” he merely says, and then clears his expression before glancing at the group of three students. “Is Miss Westen there?” He asks from Neville, who confirms Harry’s assumption with an agreeing gesture.

“You wish to question her first?” Neville asks quietly.

Harry nods. “Her, then Mr Woods, then Mr Riley,” he says, and when Neville frowns slightly, Harry adds, “Quinn will accompany the students there and back.”

Neville seems relieved, as Quinn merely nods with a blank expression.

* * *

Harry groans, stretching his back as soon as Quinn leaves Moonstone’s office, accompanied by Mr Woods. They have ten minutes before he ought to come back with Mr Riley. The boyfriend.

Neither Miss Westen’s nor Mr Woods’s questioning gave Harry much. Their stories were identical – not too identical to have been agreed upon, but enough to be valid. They had both been patrolling the train for the most of the ride, and had only briefly sat down with Miss Travers and her boyfriend. Miss Westen had told them – after Harry had asked if there had been anything concerning or unusual in Miss Travers’s relationship with her boyfriend – that Mr Riley was somewhat of a jealous type, but that was only because Miss Travers had had a lot of history with other boys.

Harry wasn’t sure what that meant exactly, but he assumed the girl had been dating other people before Mr Riley. He had asked Miss Westen, if Mr Riley had had a reason to be jealous, and she had said no; he did not.

“What is the great mind thinking?” Moonstone asks quietly, standing up from his chair and flicking his wand at the teapot on a side table. “Tea?”

Harry gives an affirmative grunt, trailing a hand through his hair as he turns to watch Moonstone fix them tea. Even though Miss Westen’s story matched Mr Woods’s, something doesn’t seem right. But he doesn’t know what it is. Not yet.

“I dunno…” He mutters, slumping into a chair in front of Moonstone’s desk, feeling like a seventh-year student again.

Moonstone gives him a grin and flicks his wand to send the teacup to Harry, who sighs with content after the first sip.

“Anything I can help you with?” Moonstone asks, taking a sip himself after taking his seat behind his desk.

Harry thinks it over. “What kind of student was she? Miss Travers?” He asks.

Moonstone hums, looking thoughtful. “Not…outstanding, but good enough. Her grades were decent, and had she kept those up during her final year, she probably wouldn’t have had any problems receiving the entry-level position in the Ministry she was aiming for.”

Harry lifts his brows in curiosity. “Oh? Where was she hoping to get assigned?” Harry knows that all main departments accept research assistants; a position, where one does have the possibility to move up in their careers, depending on the results of their assessment, and the chosen career path. Peele and Walter had both been research assistants for the DMLE at first, before applying to the Auror Academy.

Moonstone gives Harry a wry smile. “The Law Enforcement.”

“What about her friends? Old boyfriends? What kind of relationship had she with Mr Riley?” Harry asks after a short silence.

Moonstone grimaces, putting his cup down. “Boyfriends – no, I’m afraid I do not know about her past relationships, nor the nature of her relationship with Mr Riley. But as for friends…she seemed quite close with Miss Westen,” He says, and then his expression changes into a contemplative one.

“What is it?” Harry asks sharply, watching Moonstone carefully.

“I did hear Miss Travers bickering with Mr Riley in front of my office, before the holidays,” He says slowly.

“What about?” Harry asks curiously.

Moonstone stares upwards, as if trying to remember the occasion. “They were…talking about someone. Names were not mentioned, but it seemed that Mr Riley was upset,” he says, giving Harry a steady look. “But that might not mean anything.”

Harry chews the inside of his cheek. “But it might,” he says slowly, and then lets out a weary sigh.

He takes off his glasses and rubs them on the fabric of his Auror robes, before placing them back on. He then glances at the timepiece on his wrist. Almost ten-thirty. He decides to question Riley and then leave Quinn to it, as he needs to still check the kids – Molly would murder him if he didn’t – and then make it to the Three Broomsticks before midnight to meet Drac… _Malfoy_ , that is. He hopes Malfoy has found something that could help them solve this mystery faster.

There’s a sharp knock on the door before it opens. Quinn and Riley step inside. Harry stands up from his seat while Moonstone flicks his wand to clear his table from teacups.

“Mr Riley,” Harry says kindly, taking note of the ghostly pale and frightened expression on the student’s face. “Take a seat,” he says and gestures at the seating area with three armchairs, two facing one.

Harry takes the lone armchair while Moonstone and Riley sit next to each other, facing Harry. Quinn hovers further in the room, observing quietly.

Riley is tall and well-built; a bloke who seems like he would be popular among other students. But as he sits in the armchair, Harry reckons he looks rather weak…like he’s lost.

“As Professor Flitwick is needed elsewhere, I will act as your Head of House during this questioning, and will speak with him before tomorrow, so that he knows – as your actual Head of House – what we discussed today with the Aurors,” Moonstone tells Riley. “Would that be all right?”

Riley gives Moonstone a shaky nod. “Yeah.”

Harry clears his throat and fixes his gaze at Riley, who looks back with reserve. “Mr Riley. Why don’t you tell us about the train ride? Start from the beginning,” Harry says, his voice stern, but his expression kind and approachable.

Riley starts to explain the events, from the moment he stepped on the train, to the moment he met his girlfriend; during which he chokes down a sob. He continues after a moment to describe how he spent time with his other friends – Harry asks what the time was then, and if it was closer to Hogsmeade or London. Riley tells him that he _thinks_ it was closer to Hogsmeade then, but that he definitely met his girlfriend briefly, before the train reached to Hogsmeade.

“Why didn’t you stay with her and go to the school together?” Harry asks, watching how Riley’s cheeks tinge slightly with red.

Moonstone gives both Riley and Harry a scrutinising look.

“I, um…I….” Riley mutters, seemingly embarrassed.

Moonstone pats him on the shoulder. “You can tell us, Nate. The other students will not find out what is spoken in this room,” he says gently.

Riley nods slowly. “We were, um…” He glances at Harry and Moonstone, before quickly looking at the floor, “snogging, in a compartment. And then Jenna…she was distracted,” he says with a deep frown. He moves his gaze up to meet Harry’s, who studies carefully his features.

“What was distracting her?” Harry asks, and sees how Riley’s posture stiffens briefly, before the boy relaxes and clears his throat.

“I dunno. She didn’t tell me,” Riley tells Harry, holding his gaze. “She was stressed out by something, and I…kinda,” Riley says with a grimace, “was frustrated by that. She blew me off, told me she’d need to change into her school robes and that she’d go to the carriages with Skylar, and that she’d meet me in school.”

Harry narrows his eyes slightly. “And how did that make you feel?” He asks, wondering if that would be enough for the bloke to actually harm his girlfriend – or worse; accidentally kill her.

“ _Harry_.” Moonstone warns, evidently knowing where Harry’s thoughts, and his questions are going.

Harry’s steely gaze briefly meets Moonstone’s, before he focuses back to the boy. “What happened after you left her…in the compartment?” Harry asks, wondering if Riley was the last person who saw her alive.

Riley shrugs. “I went to hang out with my dorm mates – Tristan and Carter – for the rest of the trip.”

“What time was it then?” Harry asks.

Riley frowns a bit. “I’m not sure,” he mutters. “Maybe forty-five minutes before we arrived to Hogsmeade? Could have been less…” His eyes widen then, and he gives both Harry and Moonstone a horrified look. “You don’t think I had something to do – no!” He says, standing up, looking furious.

“Sit down, Nate.” Moonstone says sternly. “We don’t think anything, yet, isn’t that right, Auror Potter?” Moonstone says with a calm voice, his eyes narrowing at Harry’s.

Harry gives him an agreeing nod. “That is right,” he says and clears his throat. “We simply need to know everything that happened on the train, to help us find out if there was someone who was involved in Miss Travers’s death,” Harry explains coolly.

Riley looks contemplative, but sits down again.

“Was the brief encounter in the compartment the last time you saw Miss Travers?” Harry continues.

Riley nods his head. “Yes, it was,” he says, his voice thick.

“Is there anything else that happened during the trip? Or anything else you would like to add?” Harry asks.

Riley grits his teeth together. “I’ve told you everything I know.”

Moonstone gives the bloke a small smile. “Thank you for that, Mr Riley,” he says, before lifting a brow at Harry. “Would you like to ask anything else?” Moonstone asks from Harry, evidently meaning for Harry to speed the fuck up, since Riley starts to look rather worn out by the questioning.

Harry nods. “Was there anyone who didn’t get along with Miss Travers?”

Riley frowns at Harry, and then glances away before looking back. “No…I don’t think so. She – she didn’t quarrel with anyone,” he says, looking slightly edgy.

Harry thinks over Riley’s answers, and something – like in Westen’s case – is bothering him, but he is not sure what it is. He has the feeling that Riley had left something unsaid. Riley was probably the last person to see Miss Travers alive, but if he spent the last forty-five minutes of the train ride in the company of his friends, it could be possible that there was someone else who saw the girl after he did. For now, he knows he cannot press further without upsetting both the student and Moonstone. He needs to go over the results from other Aurors who are questioning the Prefects, and if indeed they do not find anything, he will have to approach Riley’s parents to get the permission to question him under Veritaserum.

“Okay. That’s all for now.” Harry says after a short moment. “Auror Quinn will take you back to your common room.”

Riley stands up shakily, looking rather overwhelmed.

After the door closes, Moonstone leans back in his chair and lifts his brows at Harry. “You think the boyfriend did it.” He states, not asking, but saying what he thinks Harry thinks.

Harry gives him a small scoff. “He _is_ hiding something. But I don’t know what to think. Not yet.”

Moonstone nods slowly, studying Harry’s features.

“What?” Harry asks, knowing exactly what Moonstone is doing. What he’s always doing – always trying to read people, to figure them out.

Moonstone gives him a small shrug. “You’ve changed.”

Harry arches a brow at him. “Oh? How have I changed? And can I use your fireplace to floocall Hermione?”

Moonstone sighs, standing up. “You’re more speculative. Harsher. But all of that probably comes with the job, hm?” He says, walking to his desk, his back turned towards Harry. “Have at it,” he mutters, waving his hand towards the fireplace at the back wall.

Harry stands up and moves to the fireplace, mutters a spell to light it, before throwing a handful of floopowder into the now merrily dancing flames. He reaches Hermione easily, gives her a status report, and she tells him that she has been in contact with Ginny – who will arrive to Hogsmeade later that evening – and the rest of the Weasleys. She makes him promise to give her love to her children. She also tells Harry that no one has come forth about the incident, and everyone – including the Minister – is eager for Harry to solve the matter efficiently. They end the call after Harry tells her that he’ll be in touch in a couple of hours, when he has gone through the results of their investigation for the night.

“How’s the family? How’s Ginny?” Moonstone mutters from his desk, where he is rifling through a stack of parchments.

When Harry doesn’t reply to him, Moonstone lifts his head up, and evidently sees the look of uncertainty passing over Harry’s features. “Harry?”

“Ginny and I…we’re getting a divorce,” He says quietly, fixing his eyes at the floor. “What we have – _had_ – it hasn’t been working for a long time now,” Harry mutters, licking his lips. “She’s been living in her own flat for the past four months. She’s dating someone new. _Mark._ ” Harry says, grimacing slightly at the name of Ginny’s boyfriend. Mark the Genealogist.

“Oh.” Moonstone says very quietly. “I’m…I’m very sorry to hear that. How did the kids take it?” He asks, and when Harry looks back at him, he sees Moonstone watching him with a deep frown.

“They don’t know yet. Ginny stayed home during the holidays – or the days she actually was not working.” Harry says, feeling quite tired. "We were supposed to tell them during the holidays..."

Moonstone nods slowly. “How are you doing?” He asks, his voice soft, and a concerned look in his eyes.

Harry shrugs. “I’m fine with it. It’s been a long time coming.”

Moonstone opens his mouth but before he can say anything else, Harry continues, “Quinn will continue with the rest of the Hufflepuff Prefects and the Head Boy. I have to check on the kids and then I’ll meet my Crime Scene Investigator in the village.”

Moonstone’s worried expression very slowly turns into an amused one. “Malfoy, right?” He says, giving Harry an odd look just as Harry starts to walk towards the door.

Harry is aware that Moonstone only knows Harry’s history with Malfoy from their school years, and nothing else. But still, the look Moonstone gives Harry, makes him stumble in his steps. Makes his cheeks flame.

Harry continues through the door and slams it closed with more force than necessary after hearing a silent snort behind him. He _cannot_ think about Malfoy right now. He checks the time – eleven – and lets out a weary sigh; he still needs to pop in at all houses, except Hufflepuff.

He decides to start with the dungeons, and goes back to the Entrance Hall, then takes the door on the right side, and walks down the set of stone steps towards the dungeons. In his mind, Harry goes over the answers from the three students, examining the details and if they had any inconsistencies between their stories, or anything that might have stood out. Why did Miss Westen tell him about Riley’s jealousy? What was distracting Miss Travers? Another boy? Could Riley have done something out of jealousy?

Harry reaches the bare stretch of stone wall.

“ _Vipera berus,_ ” Harry mutters, and immediately, the stone wall opens up into a passage, revealing the large, underground room, resonating a greenish light both from the round lamps and the lake.

“Dad!” Albus gasps loudly, jumping up from a seating area near the entrance. He gives Harry a quick hug, and then looks slightly self-conscious, glancing quickly behind him. “Um. What is going on?” He asks quietly, looking worried.

Harry gives a calming pat on his son’s shoulder, and then sees Scorpius hesitantly trailing after Albus. “Hey boys,” He greets and then sees Parkinson, talking with two older students in one corner, while sweeping the room with his gaze every once in a while. He nods at Harry when their eyes meet.

Most of the students are in their dormitories, which Harry thinks is better, as they are only questioning the Prefects.

“Hold on a second, Albus. I’ll be right back,” Harry says and walks up to Parkinson.

“Sir,” Parkinson says as soon as Harry is closer to him. The two students give them hesitant looks and slowly take their leave. After they are outside hearing distance, Parkinson continues, “Nothing out of ordinary here. All students under fifteen have been asked to go to their dormitories. Smith is currently with Slughorn, in the middle of his fourth Prefect interview,” Parkinson tells Harry promptly.

Two more to go, Harry thinks. Perhaps Smith will manage to question all of them before midnight.

He gives Parkinson a curt nod. “Smith will return to the village after midnight, along with Bones, Keir and Quinn. Peele and Prone will stay at school premises. Summon them if you need anything,” Harry says, and then frowns a bit before adding very quietly, “In case of an emergency, send the usual messenger, but alert the teachers as well, since they are closer and can provide assistance faster.”

Parkinson merely nods at Harry, “Of course, sir. Until tomorrow then.”

Harry smiles tightly and turns back towards his son, to see Albus and Scorpius, and a handful of others watching him with anxious and curious looks.

He tries to give them a reassuring smile. “Everyone but Prefects into dormitories, please,” He says coolly, and he’s met with hesitant expressions.

“Auror Parkinson will be stationed in the common room for the night,” he adds, and sees several girls looking calmer and more collected.

A group of girls leaves the common room, towards their dormitories, and they are followed by a handful of boys.

Harry walks up to Albus and Scorpius, who both haven’t moved an inch.

“Dad?” Albus asks, his eyes moving fast between Harry’s. “What’s going on? Is there a mu – “

“ _Albus_ ,” Harry warns, knowing there are still several pairs of ears listening their every word. He glances at Scorpius, who looks paler than usual. “Scorpius, are you okay?” Harry asks, watching him more closely.

Scorpius blinks and swallows hard. “Yeah. I’m fine,” he grunts, looking away.

“Your father sends you his best,” Harry tries, and Scorpius’s eyes whip back to meet his.

Scorpius looks a bit stunned, but then his expression clears into an indifferent one. “How kind of him,” he says, his voice polite, but the meaning behind his words not as so.

Harry wonders for a moment, what is going on between the father and son.

“Dad?” Albus presses on, his green eyes expectant.

Harry puts a hand on Albus’s shoulder and gives his son a grim look. “I have to return to the village. Parkinson and Slughorn will both stay the night here, in your common room,” he says, and sees the doubtful look on Albus’s face. “It is perfectly safe to go to bed,” he adds, even if a small part of him wants to grab his son and side-along him straight to home until the investigation is finished. But then there would still be five-hundred students who do not have their parents present to whisk them into safety. At least, not yet.

“Who was it?” Scorpius asks silently, a blank look in his grey eyes – a look that almost makes Harry take a step back, as the boy in front of him reminds him painfully much of his father.

Yes, Harry is aware of the fact that Draco and Scorpius look alike – quite like Albus and Harry do – but Scorpius is different from his father; he is, usually at least, carefree, smiling, polite, and open-minded. Whereas Draco…is not. Or was not. Harry couldn’t really say, as he hasn’t spoken with the man for a long time.

Harry clears his throat. “I can’t say anything, I’m afraid.”

“Was it Travers?” Albus whispers, and Harry barely suppresses a flinch.

Both Scorpius and Albus watch carefully Harry’s every move. Harry cannot confirm it, he knows, since the information cannot be passed on from the Head Auror to his son and friends – it needs to come from the Headmistress, or from the Heads of House.

“We know it’s someone from Hufflepuff, dad,” Albus adds, arching a brow at him.

Harry purses his lips. “I can’t say anything. You _know_ this, Albus.” He says pointedly, and Albus’s cheeks go slightly red for being chastised.

“Go to bed, boys. _Now.”_ Harry continues, and gives them both a stern look. “I’ll meet you in the morning, okay?”

Both Albus and Scorpius grumble something close to “G’night,” under their breaths, and drag themselves towards the boys’ dormitory. Harry waits until the door closes, before he gives Parkinson a nod and leaves the Slytherin common room.

The Ravenclaw tower is closest to the dungeons, at least with the shortcut Harry knows exists one floor up, behind the tapestry with the dancing monks. He walks in silence again, thinking of apparating to London and back to retrieve the Marauder’s Map, since it could provide the Aurors at school some help; they could monitor the students more easily with it, and see if someone moves in the castle at night.

Of course, the map is over forty years old, and as it was made for the amusement of four students, there could be errors. But it couldn’t hurt, Harry reckons.

He steps into the Ravenclaw tower after muttering “Fire,” to a riddle asked by the eagle knocker; ‘ _I am not alive, but I grow; I don't have lungs, but I need air; I don't have a mouth, but water kills me. What am I?’_

Harry is met with a similar welcome than in the Slytherin common room, if not a bit louder, as Rose, Roxanne, Lucy, Molly and Louis all attack Harry with hugs and anxious questions. He manages to calm everyone down, and listens as Lucy – who is a fifth-year Prefect – starts to explain the questioning she went through, and sees how Molly becomes even more nervous, as she hasn’t yet been to Flitwick’s office with Auror Keir.

Molly is a seventh-year prefect, who Harry has heard, only narrowly lost the Head Girl title to her classmate Charlotte. And how does Harry know this? The answer would be James, who happens to date Charlotte. That said, Harry is not sure how much he should be trusting on what James tells him, as the boy is known from his mischief – enough so to make his two namesakes proud.

Bletchley tips her chin at the sight of Harry, a flicker of amusement crossing her features as she watches the group of girls and Louis pester Harry, demanding him to explain them everything…

Harry eventually manages to order all but Molly to go to their beds, promising that they will be safe, proceeding to give the same instructions to Bletchley as he did to Parkinson. He leaves the Ravenclaw common room and exhales in the corridor before making his way to the Gryffindor Tower.

“Haven’t seen you in a while, Mr Potter,” the Fat Lady says with a kind smile.

Harry smiles at the portrait. “It is good to be back, regardless of the not so joyful reason,” He says, and then mutters the password, “ _Aconite._ ”

The Fat Lady gives him a grim nod and opens, giving him permission to enter the Gryffindor common room – his home for seven years.

He exchanges words briefly with Walter, the young eager Auror, who seems to be getting well with the students, and has managed to calm them down somewhat, as James, Fred, Dominique, Lily and Hugo do not seem as anxious or worried as the rest of the children had been.

He hears that Dominique – a fifth-year Prefect and Bill’s daughter – has been questioned by Bones, but when Harry asks if it went well, the girl simply shrugs him off with Fleur-like indifference. Lily and Hugo are both curious to know more, but do not badger him once he tells everyone they will receive more information from the Headmistress and their Head of House. Lily gives him a crushing hug, while James – who is somewhat quieter than usual – asks Harry to speak with him alone.

Harry accompanies James to the familiar, seventh-years’ dormitory – which is in quite a mess, and definitely had not been that bad during Harry’s time, he notes – and he watches as James walks up to his trunk, situated at the foot of the middle bed on the left side of the room.

“What is it, James?” Harry asks, stifling the urge to check the time – he is on the clock, as they say, and he really hopes that this is important. “I need to get going soon,” he mutters.

James straightens up, and then turns, watching Harry with a hesitant look. “I’m sorry, dad,” is what James has decided to start with, and Harry groans inwardly, already knowing it is nothing good.

“I…took something,” James mutters, stretching out his hand, clutching a _very familiar_ parchment between his fingers.

The Marauder’s Map.

Which Harry had definitely not given to his son. But now, it seems, it is a good thing that James knows no boundaries and guilt – except only when someone has died, apparently – to go through his study; a room Harry has locked with charms that even a seventh-year should not be able to break, he adds in his mind.

Harry gives James a sharp look, and takes the Map from him. “Thanks, James. This could help us a lot. And you just spared me a trip to London and back,” he says tightly, and is somewhat annoyed that James doesn’t even have the grace to look embarrassed.

“Will you give it back? Afterwards?” He has the nerve to ask Harry.

Harry closes his eyes for a bit, praying for higher powers to give him patience, before he gives James a forged smile – something his son knows does not bode well, and proves Harry right by cringing slightly.

“We’ll see, won’t we,” Harry says sternly. “Perhaps it couldn’t hurt if you stayed here until the morning,” he adds, and then walks towards the door.

He turns and gives James; who looks mildly disappointed, a small smile. “I’ll see you in the morning, James,” he says, voice softer now.

James grins back at him. “Will do, dad,” he says, before Harry leaves the dormitory.

Downstairs, he orders the rest of the Weasley clan and his daughter to go to their dormitories for the night, promising to meet them the next day.

* * *

Harry suppresses a large yawn as he walks briskly towards the village. It is dark and cold and the snow glittering on the ground and the trees creates shadows in the moonlight. He has left the Map to Prone who will be in charge of the Aurors stationed in the school during the night.

The village is empty – there’s only Ron, Berrycloth and Fungbury. Harry tells Ron that everything was well with his children, and that they haven’t yet made any breakthroughs in the case. He tells Ron to turn in for the night, who does so albeit reluctantly, and asks if Fungbury had managed to get them rooms in the village like he asked earlier. He had, and tells Harry that Malfoy is already in one of the pub’s private meeting rooms, waiting for him.

Fungbury volunteers to patrol the village through the night, when Harry informs that both him and Berrycloth are not needed there during the night. With that, Harry and Berrycloth make their way into the pub, to meet Malfoy.

Susan Bones – Harry’s old classmate – runs the pub now, and she greets him heartily, before telling him that he shouldn’t hesitate to ask if there was something he needed. She tells him that the pub is closed for everyone but the Aurors at this time of day, and that she will turn in soon, but her bartender; Douglas, will stay up for a bit longer, should they wish to eat or drink something. Harry gives her a grateful smile and tells her he quite appreciates her help.

Berrycloth goes to the bar to order them some food, while Harry takes a steadying breath before entering the private chamber of the pub.

Malfoy is there, with a handful of parchments scattered over the table. He lifts his head up, his gaze dropping at Harry, and Harry sees a deep frown between his pale brows. And now that Harry has more time and patience to actually look at the other man, he sees that only a little has changed since he last saw the blonde Slytherin; his hair is short and stylishly cut, his skin is as pale as ever, and his robes look expensive and sleek. However, there’s a smudge of ink on his temple, and more on the tips of his fingers. He must have been scribbling his notes furiously after returning to the pub. Harry swallows hard, calming himself, forcing himself to stay cool and politely distant.

“Hi,” Harry says tentatively, stepping forward. “There’s, um, ink. On your – just – there,” He mutters, pointing at his left temple.

Malfoy lifts a brow at him, and then sighs, cleaning his skin with a conjured napkin. “I could use the Quick Quotes, but I quite hate it when it mixes up my words and makes me sound like an infant,” He grunts, and then cleans his fingers with a wordless spell.

Harry blinks, realising how he has been staring at Malfoy’s fingers, knowing how he bloody well needs to get a grip of himself!

“Anything new?” Harry asks, sitting heavily opposite to Malfoy, who organises his parchments with a flick of his wand.

Malfoy looks slightly bothered, and glances away briefly, before giving Harry a serious look. “Well, yes, actually. But I suppose it is not necessarily good news,” He says, pulling a book – the one that was lying in the pool of blood in the compartment they found Miss Travers from, now dried – from the chair next to him and places it on the table.

“There is something you should know.” Malfoy says, to little avail, as he opens it at the same time, and Harry sees it. The inscription inside the book.

_‘property of Rose Granger-Weasley’_


	4. Then, perhaps, all these here are linked together - by death

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enjoy!

**Chapter 4: Then, perhaps, all these here are linked together - by death**

**Hogsmeade, 10 January 2022**

”Potter.” Draco mutters, watching the other man carefully.

Potter lets out a soft grunt, his eyes glued on the book. He then tears his eyes away from it, and looks at Draco. “I suppose we need to expand our investigation,” he says with a grim look.

Potter pulls the book closer, closes it and flicks his wand at it, checking it for any traces of magic. Draco already knows there are none.

“Merlin,” Potter groans, placing the book back on the table before trailing a hand through his hair, worry flickering into those weary green eyes.

Draco’s eyes follow the movement, wondering briefly what exactly is going on in his mind right now. His focus swiftly moves to the door as there’s a knock before it opens.

Auror Berrycloth walks in, followed by three Aurors Draco doesn’t know by name; a woman in her forties and two men, who both seem younger than the woman and Berrycloth. They all greet Potter and then eye Draco curiously, before Potter makes the slightly clumsy introductions; Aurors Bones, Smith and Keir.

“Where’s Quinn?” Potter, who has schooled his features into a serious expression, asks from the grumpy one – Keir, Draco thinks.

Keir sits down next to Draco. “He’ll be here soon. Was with Moonstone and the Head Boy when we left, going through the last of his interviews,” the man grunts.

Berrycloth – the only one who Draco has actually exchanged words with, as he was the one who sealed the train after Draco had wrapped up for the day and sent the body with a Portkey to his colleagues at the wizarding morgue – levitates a large tray behind him, placing it on one the side tables before casting a stasis charm to the several plates of food. He then takes the seat next to Potter.

Potter gives the food a longing look before evidently deciding that work needs to be done first, as he squares his shoulders and tells the others to sit down. “Let’s start without Quinn. What have we got?” He asks from everyone, then nods at Draco to start. “Malfoy?”

Draco clears his throat, glancing at the notes he has stacked neatly in front of him. “Sixteen-year-old girl, found in the train compartment with a severe penetrating blow to the head, resulting a massive blood loss and a traumatic brain injury; which I have confirmed to be the cause of death. Based on the body temperature, time of death is approximately between five-thirty and six-thirty pm,” he says, glancing at the timepiece on the wall, “yesterday, on January ninth.”

He turns a page, checking his notes. “The blow to the head may have occurred during a thirty-minute time range before her death.”

Draco feels Potter’s questioning look even before he sees it. “Yes?” Draco drawls, lifting his head and arching a brow at Potter.

“The head injury didn’t instantly kill her?” Potter asks with a deep frown.

Draco suppresses the urge to roll his eyes. “It would appear so.”

Potter definitely wants to ask more but manages to stifle the urge and nods at Draco to continue.

“I have examined the compartment, and found two objects that could have caused the impact and the wound; the edge of the compartment bench and a schoolbook,” Draco explains, and sees Potter swallowing hard, evidently thinking about said book’s owner.

He then glances his notes again. “I also took a blood sample and analysed it; there was an unusually high dose of sedatives in the girl’s bloodstream,” Draco says, and looks at the others.

Several pairs of eyes give him puzzled and expectant looks.

“Calming Draught or the Draught of Peace are the most probable potions; both of which are used in Psychopharmacology, and with an abnormal measure those could cause a similar result to what was found in the blood analysis,” Draco clarifies.

There’s a short silence.

“Could the dose of sedatives have made it impossible for her to summon help?” Potter asks slowly.

Draco gives him a nod. “I’d say she was barely conscious after the head injury.”

Potter eyes Draco thoughtfully. “Anything else?”

Draco’s eyes flicker to the book, and then back to meet his gaze. What the hell is Potter playing? “No recognisable traces of magic inside the room other than the door, which you examined and confirmed there to be traces of a locking spell – matching to the last spell performed by Miss Travers’s wand.”

Potter takes in a deep breath and then nods at Keir, who sits on Draco’s left.

As Keir starts to summarise his interviews; the Head Girl and six Prefects – including two more of Potter’s nieces – Draco is somewhat amazed Potter hasn’t brought up the book yet, as it does concern one of his nieces. He watches Potter carefully as Keir goes through the information he received – nearly all of them _had_ seen Travers and one of them is a friend of Travers’s boyfriend, it seems. The prefect in question had been with Travers’s boyfriend almost the entire hour before the train had reached Hogsmeade.

Potter confirms this, explaining how he and Auror Quinn had questioned the boyfriend. Quinn arrives just then, looking rather harried as his gaze moves across the table, flickering twice on Draco. He nods at everyone and silently takes his seat at the other end of the table as Keir finishes with his report.

Draco wonders, what the bloody hell that was, and if Auror Quinn – who Draco thinks with a mild irritation, is too good-looking to be an Auror – had perhaps learned something that could help solve the case.

“Bones?” Potter asks, interrupting Draco’s thoughts, as he gestures for the Auror sitting beside Keir to give her report.

Bones had been questioning the Gryffindor Prefects, and while several of them saw Travers in the company of either her friend Westen or her boyfriend Riley, it had been during the first hours of the ride. The Gryffindors had described Miss Travers quite differently than the students from both Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw house; that Miss Travers was a vain or conceited person, who didn’t really care if she hurt someone’s feelings.

And Draco thinks it is all very dull, until Bones pauses and gives Potter a calculative look. “One of them, Mr Longbottom –” and Draco barely suppresses a flinch; _Longbottom has a child?_ “– told us that your son dated Miss Travers in the beginning of their fifth year.”

Potter gives Bones a bemused look. “James?”

Bones shakes her head slightly, an expressionless look on her features. “Your younger son.”

Draco’s mind whirls. Potter’s younger son – Albus – has recently dated the victim?

“What…?” Potter mutters, staring at the table and looking utterly taken aback. “Albus…Albus – _dated_ her?” He asks weakly, moving his eyes back to Bones’s.

The woman gives Potter a sharp nod. Draco takes note that everyone else watches the situation intently.

“What did Myrus – Longbottom – say? When did this happen?” Potter asks hastily.

Bones’s brows furrow slightly. “Mr Longbottom was not sure about the specifics,” she says, glancing at her notes. “According to him, they were seeing each other during the previous September, but hadn’t been spending time together moving towards the end of the year.”

Potter looks stunned, unable to form words. Draco wonders if there are other things the boy is keeping from his father. He would quite like to point it out, out of spite, as he has always somewhat envied the relationship between Potter and Albus – like it wasn’t enough that Draco has already felt jealous of the bespectacled wonder since the day they met – envied Potter’s good terms with Scorpius, and how the two of them seemed to interact effortlessly, compared with Draco and Scorpius.

Of course, he is not daft enough to utter something like that out loud. At least not in the company of five Aurors, who are in the middle of a murder investigation.

Auror Smith clears his throat on Berrycloth’s other side. “Sir,” he says with a small grimace. “There’s something you might want to hear about your other son,” he says, and Potter’s eyes widen, almost comically.

“What is it?” Potter asks quietly, fixing an assessing look at Smith.

“Both Mr Flint and Miss Hawthrone – the fifth-year Slytherin Prefects – spoke about a New Year’s party that occurred at your house,” He says, and Potter visibly stiffens.

Potter clenches his jaw. “A what?” He asks mutedly, his neck taking an interesting shade of red.

And Draco would definitely find it amusing, but he knows that Scorpius had been staying at the Potters during that time, and apparently without a parent in the house. He narrows his eyes at Potter, deciding to bring it up later.

“Your oldest son organised a party during New Year’s Eve, and Miss Travers was seen there,” Smith says, looking very uncomfortable.

“A _What?”_ Potter grits out, looking quite furious. “He did _WHAT?”_

Smith manages to look even more uncomfortable. “There was…a dispute, between James and Miss Travers,” Smith continues quietly.

Potter gapes at him, then moves his gaze away, evidently in his mind going through the events during the holiday.

Draco doesn’t think that neither James nor Albus had anything to do with Miss Travers’s death. They would’ve reached out to their father for help. He knows them – well, Albus, more like – well enough to make the presumption. He can only hope his own son would act similarly and come to him in a tight situation. But he unfortunately knows Scorpius well too. Draco would probably be the last person Scorpius would ask help from. Well, perhaps Lucius is, Draco thinks ruefully.

Auror Quinn grimaces. “It appears, there was also an argument on the train – “

“For Merlin’s sake!” Potter exclaims, standing up with a huff. He walks towards the side table, presumably to pour himself a stiff drink but lets out a disappointed grunt when he finds only Butterbeer.

He grabs one, and then glares at Quinn. “Are you all taking the piss out of me?” He demands, his expression bordering desperate.

Draco quickly checks the others; Keir still looks grumpy, Bones’s expression is as blank as it has been since she walked into the room, Smith looks like he has a permanent grimace on his face, and Berrycloth seems like he is somewhat worried.

Quinn gives Potter a helpless look. “It didn’t involve _your_ sons, sir.”

Potter arches a quizzical brow at Quinn. “What?” He says with a dubious look. “What are you talking about?”

Quinn then glances at Draco, and _for fuck’s sake_ , Draco thinks, _of course_ his son would be involved in this.

“Scorpius?” Potter asks, almost silently, following Quinn’s gaze.

Quinn nods. “Yes. Mr Malfoy and Miss Travers did have, what Miss Scott – a fifth-year Hufflepuff prefect – did describe as an ‘intense argument’,” Quinn says apologetically. “Scott heard Mr Malfoy pleading Miss Travers not to reveal something as they were speaking in the train corridor. She heard him tell Miss Travers that it would cost him dearly if she did.”

“ _What_?” Draco and Potter ask at the same time. Potter looks puzzled, but Draco thinks, he himself definitely looks horrified. What in the name of Salazar is Scorpius playing? What has he meddled into?

“Miss Scott told me that Miss Travers and Mr Malfoy continued their conversation further down the corridor, after noticing that other people were listening to their conversation, making it impossible to hear what they were speaking about. Miss Scott stayed in her compartment with her sister and her sister’s friend Miss Westen. Scott explained how they saw Mr Malfoy and Miss Travers, before Miss Travers’s boyfriend Mr Riley joined them. According to Scott, Mr Riley and Miss Travers soon left back to their compartment.”

There’s a stunned silence. Scorpius? Intense argument, with the possibly murdered girl, only hours or moments before she died. Draco is starting to feel nauseous. “What time did this conversation take place?” Draco asks, forcing his voice to stay steady, forcing his expression into an indifferent one. He is quite aware how every pair of eyes are fixated on him, but he focuses on Quinn.

Quinn gives Draco a strained look. “According to Scott, less than two hours before the train arrived Hogsmeade.”

Draco stares back numbly, wondering what the bloody hell has his son done? This is a fucking nightmare, he decides.

Potter lifts a hand up. “Hold on,” he says with a low voice and a deep frown. Everyone turns to look at him. “I questioned Miss Westen. And she didn’t mention anything about this argument. Neither did Riley.” Potter says, glancing at Quinn. The other Auror gives him a confirmative nod.

Draco lifts his brows at Potter.

Potter lets out a deep sigh, his gaze fixed at Draco. “It seems that we need to question Miss Westen and Mr Riley again. And probably the Scott sisters as well.”

Berrycloth clears his throat loudly and turns to look at Potter, who is still standing next to the side table. “Sir – may I suggest that you assign one of us to question both of your boys? It would be better to take care of it without delay, even more so, since there are inconsistencies in the students’ statements, so that we can move on with the investigation as smoothly and quickly as possible.”

Potter has been staring at Draco, so intensely, that it almost seems like he has forgot there are others in the room. Draco keeps the walls protecting his mind up, keeps the blank look on his face, and watches emotionlessly back as Potter’s concerned, green eyes try to search his, try to find something, before they move away, and focus on the middle of table.

“Sir?” Berrycloth presses on.

“Yes. That would be – Quinn, you can take the lead,” Potter says, his brows furrowed, sounding somewhat absentminded.

Draco twitches slightly at the name. The bloody Prince Charming – something Scorpius has taught him; a character in a Muggle children’s story, and where his son has even found such Muggle books, Draco doesn’t know – is going to question his son. Draco wants to ask Potter, why he assigned Quinn – is it because he is the best? Draco really fucking hopes so.

Draco then remembers that the Auror _is_ going to question Potter’s sons as well. So, perhaps he is the best. Still, Draco cannot stop the unease crawling into the bottom of his stomach.

“I wish to be present when this questioning occurs,” Draco says stiffly.

Potter nods at him. “That is your right as a parent,” he says quietly, looking rather troubled.

Potter then clears his throat and looks at the others. “There is something else,” Potter says, chewing the inside of his cheek as he flicks his wand at the book on the table.

The book moves to the centre of the table, and opens, displaying the inscription Draco showed Potter less than hour ago. Draco watches silently as Potter sets his jaw and takes a deep breath.

“It appears I need you to question my niece as well, Quinn,” Potter says quietly, watching Quinn with a weary look.

The Aurors go over the results of their interrogations once more, trying to form a timeline based on the Prefects’ answers. Most of them eat, but Draco cannot stomach even the idea of food. All he can think of is his son. What is going on with Scorpius? What will happen to him?

Draco knows that there are still people – still, after almost twenty-five years! – in the wizarding world who think ill of the Malfoy family, and old Death Eater families in general; at least of those whose family members fought in the wrong side of the two wars. Will the Aurors be impartial, and give Draco’s son the same treatment and the same benefit of the doubt than they do for the rest of the students? Something they will most certainly do for the Head Auror’s sons?

Draco rolls his eyes inwardly. Unlikely. He just has to figure this out by himself. He needs to speak with his son, in private. He needs to know that Scorpius hasn’t got anything to do with the girl’s death.

Scorpius _did_ have an argument with Miss Travers, possibly around the time of her death. What was that about? And Albus – he _dated_ the girl not six months ago, and James had invited her to his place during the holidays. Draco himself hadn’t even heard of the girl before, even though he thinks her family must be one of the Sacred Twenty-Eight. But apparently his and Potter’s children did know Miss Travers. Apparently, they knew her well.

It isn’t until one-thirty in the morning, that the Aurors finally decide to turn in for the rest of the night, after agreeing with the plan for the next day; who they will question, and how they will proceed.

There is a soft knock on the door, just as everyone has stood up and started to gather their things.

“ _Harry_!” Weasley – Ginevra – bursts through the door, and makes her way swiftly towards her husband, throwing herself straight into his arms. Draco then remembers disappointingly that her last name is _Potter_ as well.

Draco quickly looks away and distracts himself with his notes, while the rest of the Aurors mutter their goodnights and leave.

“Hey Gin,” Potter mutters.

Weasley – and Draco sure as hell is not going to start addressing her as ‘Potter’ within his own mind since wouldn’t that be confusing? – shoves Potter hard. Draco has to give it to her: she seems strong, and fiery. But Potter does have more muscle in him than he did in his school years – not that Draco has been looking _that_ closely – so he barely moves an inch.

“Ouch!” Potter grunts. “What was that for?”

“You tell _me_? What the bloody hell is going on in here?” She nearly shrieks, and as Draco glances at the woman, he can see her face lined with tear tracks.

Brilliant.

Potter frowns at his wife. “Didn’t Hermione call you?”

“Oh, yes! _Hermione_ called me. Not you.” She says pointedly. “I know you probably came here with firebolts glued under your shoes, but you could have informed me,” She says, almost hisses, giving Potter a disenchanted look.

Draco barely suppresses a much-needed sneer. What does Weasley think, exactly? That Potter has been slacking during his time in here? That he has had all the time in the world, during a possible murder investigation? Now that Draco is looking at him, and seeing how exhausted Potter looks, he reckons the poor bloke probably hasn’t been able to take a proper breath during the whole day before now, and even now he is being reprimanded by his wife.

Potter stammers something under his breath, and then they both seem to realise that the room is empty of Aurors, but Draco is still there.

“Malfoy,” Weasley says blankly, turning slightly towards him, still keeping a tight grip on Potter’s other arm.

Draco stares back at her with an equally expressionless look. He wonders if she knows. “Mrs Potter.” He replies with a miniscule nod, since he’s not bad-mannered. Just irritated by her presence.

Draco’s eyes find Potter’s – Harry’s – and he inclines his head to the door. “Until tomorrow,” he murmurs and then takes his notes and makes his way out of the room.

He’s barely out of the room when he hears her whispering loudly, and furiously, at Potter.

_“What the HELL is he doing in here?”_

She _definitely_ knows.

* * *

**Hogwarts, 10 January 2022**

”You reckon she was killed?” Albus whispers to Scorpius, sitting on his friend’s bed.

Scorpius, who is crouched over the nightstand between their beds and is in the middle of rummaging through his books visibly flinches, his grey eyes quickly darting around the room behind him. Albus too glances at the others; Zachary’s is in the bathroom, Cory and Cecil are both already in their beds, curtains closed. Julian – who had told them everything about the interrogation, and confirmed that it was Travers who died, thirty minutes earlier – is sitting cross-legged on his bed, furthest to Albus’s and Scorpius’s, and writing to his parents.

“Why would you think that?” Scorpius mutters quietly, focusing on his books again.

Albus frowns at his friend, feeling that Scorpius is acting very strangely, and has been like that since the train. “What is going on with you?” Albus asks, shifting closer to his friend. “Are you…are you upset about what happened? To Travers.” He asks, even though he knows it cannot be that.

Scorpius blew Albus off in the train, after – well, after their row _with_ Travers – and even during the holidays, Scorpius wasn’t his normal self.

He wants to think ‘good riddance’, since the girl was nothing but a mean and selfish bint who used people for her own gain. Who used him. But since he is not a horrible person, he feels bad especially for the girl’s friends and family. And if someone actually killed her, well, that is even more concerning. They could have a murderer on the loose.

“I don’t know. Maybe I am...” Scorpius says absently, not looking at Albus.

Albus narrows his eyes at his friend. What _were_ the two of them talking about in the train before Albus got there? “Why were you talking to her?” Albus asks, his curiosity piquing as his friend stiffens slightly.

Scorpius clears his throat and pulls a book from the shelf on the nightstand and straightens up, facing Albus. “Nothing. She was just –” He shrugs, “– saying something rubbish about you, I suppose.” Scorpius mutters and nudges Albus’s foot with his. “Now stop conquering my bed. You have your own,” He grunts and Albus slowly stands up to let Scorpius lie on it.

“You didn’t answer my first question,” Albus says, scrutinising his friend. There’s something Scorpius is not telling him, and Albus feels a flicker of doubt when his friend looks at him.

“I dunno. That is why your father is here, I suppose,” Scorpius says dismissively, and then turns his gaze at the book, flicking through the pages.

Albus feels irritated by Scorpius’s dickish behaviour. He moves back to his own bed and watches his friend closely. “And yours.”

Scorpius’s eyes snap back to his eyes widened with surprise. “W-What?” He breathes.

Albus arches a brow at him. Why would Scorpius act like this when his father is mentioned? Is he afraid to see him? “Your father? Isn’t he the Crime Scene Investigator?”

Scorpius blinks, visibly relaxing. _He really is the worst Slytherin there has ever been_ , Albus thinks.

“Yeah. He is,” Scorpius says, and frowns slightly, before putting the book on the nightstand. “Tired,” He mutters, and pulls the covers over him before flicking his wand at the curtains.

He never closes the curtains, Albus notes. Except now.

“Good night, Albus,” Scorpius says behind the thick, green fabric.

Albus stares at his friend’s bed, his mind racing. Something is definitely not right.

Does Scorpius know something about Travers’s death? Surely, he would tell Albus if he did - they tell each other everything. Albus knows everything about his friend. He knows about Scorpius’s childhood, his relationship with his dad, and how Scorpius still misses his mother. He knows what annoys Scorpius the most, and how to calm him down. Scorpius has spent so much time with Albus and Albus’s family during the past few years, that it is like he’s one of Albus’s siblings. Except he is not his brother. Definitely not. Still, Scorpius doesn’t keep secrets from Albus. Hell, Albus even knows the girls his friend has fancied during the past years – not that Scorpius has had the courage to ask anyone out – and the fact that his friend hasn’t kissed anyone.

Albus murmurs his good nights and jumps into his own bed, lying on his back and staring at the canopy. Why would Scorpius get mad at him for interrupting the argument between his friend and Travers on the train, if they had only been talking about Albus?

Was it really so? Or is Scorpius lying to Albus? He tries to remember exactly what happened; the words, the expressions, the tones of voices…

_Albus finds Scorpius finally after a short search, and is about to call him, but then he sees who he is with. Jenna. Or, ‘Travers’. Anger flares in him. How dare she bother his friends? If anyone, she should be bothering James._

_He was the one who embarrassed her at the party. He was the one who invited her there in the first place, apparently just to pay her back. Albus grits his teeth and decides to think about strangling James later, and marches to save his friend._

_“– your word? That you’re not going to –_ ” _Scorpius says pressingly, but is interrupted by Albus._

_“What are you doing?” Albus asks from Travers tensely, walking closer until he stands next to his friend, facing Travers. Albus lifts his brows at her expectantly._

_Travers gives him a cold smile. “None of your business, Albus.”_

_Albus narrows his eyes at her. “It is my business if you’re bothering my friends,” He grits out._

_He knows there is no reason for Scorpius to willingly speak to her, not after how she treated Albus, so he can only assume the brainless witch has accosted his friend._

_“Mate,” Scorpius says quietly, a hint of warning in his voice._

_Albus gives Scorpius and incredulous look, before turning back to Travers, who looks somewhat amused. “Stay away from me and my friends, Jenna,” He growls, a deep scowl on his face._

_Travers scoffs, and then turns to Scorpius. “Pity. I would’ve said yes,” She says, with an indifferent shrug._

_Albus watches his friend, and sees how Scorpius’s eyes widen slightly with dread, how he swallows hard, before he schools his expression into a blank one._

_“And as for you,” Travers says, turning to glare at Albus. “I know all of your secrets, too. You should perhaps mind your own business,” she says icily, “if others finding out about your…incompetence…would bother you,” she finishes with a spiteful smirk._

_“It doesn’t.” Albus snarls. Because, who would believe her? He can live with the fact that he has told her a bit about himself – about his insecurities. And if someone would by some miracle believe her, well, he could live with that too. As long as he doesn’t have to be bothered by her again._

_Travers gives both Albus and Scorpius a scathing look. “We’ll see about that, won’t we?” She asks airily. She opens her mouth but before she can say another word, her plonker of a boyfriend – Riley – walks up to them, a suspicious look in his eyes._

_“What is going on?” He grunts, narrowing his eyes at Albus and Scorpius._

_Albus gives him a mild shrug. “Apparently some people don’t know how to back off,” He says blankly._

_Travers lets out an outraged huff, Scorpius bristles next to him, and Riley – he lifts a brow at Albus, staring at him intently. “Talking about yourself?”_

_Albus rolls his eyes. “That ship has sailed long ago. But based on how intently you,” He looks at Travers, “still try to wiggle your way close to my friends and family, I’m wondering if you were aware of the fact.”_

_Travers seethes, and Riley takes a step closer to Albus, looking somewhat angered._

_“I think we’re done here,” Scorpius says forcefully, taking a hold on Albus’s arm – a bloody tight and painful grip in Albus’s opinion – and starts to pull them both away from the couple._

_Both Travers and Riley give Albus and Scorpius their final, deep scowls before they turn to the other direction – with Riley practically dragging Travers with him to a compartment down the corridor._

_Scorpius lets go of Albus, and takes in a deep breath, looking away._

_“What?” Albus asks with a small frown._

_Scorpius whirls towards him. “Why the fuck did you do that?” He hisses, and Albus startles._

_Scorpius usually never swears like that. He says it is beneath him. But apparently not now._

_“What the bloody hell is your problem?” Albus asks, irritated by his friend’s strange behaviour. He should be grateful that Albus saved him from Travers’s claws._

_Scorpius narrows his eyes at Albus. “I was fine on my own. I don’t need you to fight my fights,” he grits through his teeth. He turns slightly away from Albus._

_What the hell is going on? Why is Scorpius acting like this? Like a – like a tosser. Is he angry because Albus came to help him? What the hell was he supposed to do then? Stay behind and watch? Not bloody likely. Scorpius would’ve done the same had the situation been reversed._

_“Scorpius, come on,” Albus says, annoyed, and reaches out a hand to pull his friend back to face him._

_Scorpius glances at Albus and sneers at him. He. Fucking. Sneers._

_“Do not.” Scorpius growls. He takes in a deep breath, and visibly calms a bit, his eyes moving across the corridor. “I’ll find you later,” he mutters, and then marches away._

_Albus is left in the middle of the corridor, gaping at his friend._

“– Night,” Zachary says quietly as he hops into his own bed, opposite to Albus’s.

Albus is shaken from his thoughts. “Yeah. Night.” He says, and chews the inside of his cheek, still staring at the canopy of his bed.

After the encounter in the corridor, Scorpius had stayed away from Albus for the rest of the ride. It wasn’t until they had reached Hogsmeade, that Albus had found his friend at the carriages, looking grim. Albus had apologised, even though he wasn’t sure _what_ exactly he was apologising for. That had helped to make Scorpius relax a bit. But now, Albus is wondering if Scorpius is still distressed about something.

What was he talking about with Travers? Albus is willing to bet his Firebolt that it did not concern him the slightest...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...Also, I'd like to know what you guys think of this story so far...Who do you think did it? ;)


	5. Rumours, of course, as there always were

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Andd, were back! Have at it! (and let me know what you thought of this chapter ;) )

**Chapter 5: Rumours, of course, as there always were**

**Hogsmeade, 10 January 2022**

Draco wakes up to his wand buzzing next to him on the nightstand. He blinks, taking in his surroundings; he is in the Three Broomsticks, in one of the small rooms upstairs that Susan Bones – the landlady – kindly arranged for him and the Aurors.

He gets out of bed, letting out a small groan. He _really_ misses his own bed, opposed to this lumpy haystack.

Last night was…horrible. Draco barely slept after learning the worrisome news about his son. Scorpius. He knows whatever it is, Scorpius cannot have anything to do with Travers’s death, he _knows_ it. But still, he cannot stop wondering. He cannot stop worrying over him.

Last night, all kinds of thoughts were filling his mind; mostly those featuring plans to make sure his son is kept out of harm’s way. But there was something else as well…

Potter. Draco’s past came to haunt him – it all came back to slap him in the face. During the past year, he has managed to avoid those thoughts, to bury them somewhere deep in the corner of his mind. And now the sodding git has made everything difficult. All was well when Draco was able to avoid the Boy Who Lived. After Astoria died, it was always Scorpius and Albus organising their get togethers either at his home or at Potter’s. And Potter had stayed away from him after the pub, which Draco thinks was for the better. But now, Draco is expected to work with the bespectacled Saviour, and act as if nothing has happened between them. The bad, or the good.

He shivers as he thinks of both.

From the moment Potter turned him down when Draco offered his hand at the start of their first year, they became rivals. They became enemies. Their schoolyears were filled with bullying, fighting, competing and duelling. And Draco doesn’t even deny it – within his own mind, of course – that he was jealous. Jealous of Potter. Because Potter seemed to have everything; fame, fortune, friends, and everyone worshipping the ground he walked on. He was even a decent wizard and able to perform some spells Draco and many others were only dreaming of. Apparently, he still is, as he has managed to move up in his career to be the Head of the Auror Office.

There are moments Draco wishes he could take back – moments he thinks he should apologise for. But then again, Potter never really apologised for trying to kill him during their sixth year. What Potter _did_ , was speaking on Draco’s behalf during the trials after the war, making sure Draco and his parents stayed away from Azkaban. What Potter _did_ , was saving his life during the final battle, perhaps even more times than the two Draco can remember.

And there are moments he wishes he’d _want_ to take back. That one night at the Leaky Cauldron – possibly the only time Draco has been out after Astoria’s death, and possibly the first time in his life he has been three sheets to the wind drunk. Potter was there; he found Draco from the corner table, where he was nursing his fifth – perhaps it was the tenth – drink in the completely packed pub.

Draco vaguely remembers Potter saying something, asking if Draco was going to be all right. Or – Potter might’ve just told he had been dancing with Dumbledore, Draco couldn’t say. He was quite inebriated.

How they had stumbled into the bathroom some time later, is still beyond Draco’s grasp. He doesn’t remember much of the night, but he remembers that. He remembers the intensity of that tragically bright green gaze and the concern in Potter’s eyes, that quickly turned into something else. It was need. It was urgency. It was hunger. He remembers Potter’s fingers pressing against his shoulder, his lips crashing against Draco’s, greedily taking what they wanted. He remembers Potter pushing Draco against the door, keeping him in place, his hand against Draco’s jaw the other one bruising his hip, and Potter’s leg between his.

Not that Draco was objecting the slightest. In fact, he was enjoying it more than he had imagined he would with Potter. It had been both thrilling and so… _right._ Naturally he’d thought about the scar-headed man before the pub, but had always dismissed those thoughts almost immediately. Draco doesn’t usually waste his thoughts on unavailable people, except, apparently when he has lowered his guard due to an excessive amount of alcohol.

What happened, was something Draco hadn’t done before, even though he’s been aware of his…preferences…ever since he was a young boy. What he felt with Potter, he hadn’t felt with others; it was…arousing, and so… _right_. Like that was what he was supposed to do, supposed to feel, preferably for the rest of his life. And he knows that a large part of those feelings originates from the fact that sexually he somewhat prefers men. He lets out a quiet, self-deprecating laugh. He _only_ prefers men, who the bloody hell is he kidding?

Draco sighs wearily. Why in the name of Salazar is he thinking about this? What happened with Potter, was embarrassing, desperate, and something he wishes neither of them will ever bring up. And since Potter is married – and was married then – it should be the case.

But based on Weasley’s behaviour last night, Draco knows he ought not to relay on wishful thinking on the incident being truly forgotten.

He knows that he has a bit of time before the others wake up and they’ll be starting a new day in the investigation – it is not yet five-thirty, and he assumes the Aurors are still sleeping – so he decides to make the most of it and step into a hot shower down the hall.

Draco makes it to the hallway, and just as he wonders which of the doors is the bathroom, someone trudges up the stairs.

“Oh! Hi. I didn’t know anyone was awake yet,” Potter says breathlessly.

Draco finds himself staring at Potter, who stands there, on the top of the stairs, looking windswept, his cheeks red from what Draco assumes is the cold air outside.

“What on earth are you wearing?” Draco asks before he can stop himself, as he stares at Potter’s attire; a pair of loose trousers and a hoodie – hardly something one wears outside during the winter.

Potter trails a hand through his hair, looking somewhat sheepish. “I was, um, running,” he mutters, and then gives a mild shrug. “Helps me to concentrate. Clears my mind.”

Draco nods slowly, and then starts to speak, but so does Potter.

“Could you – “

“ – Can we – “

They both stop and stare at each other expectantly.

“What?” Potter asks quickly, his eyes moving across Draco’s face, searching for something.

Draco clears his throat. “Could you show me the bathroom?” He asks, rather stiffly.

Potter looks away, his brows twitching. “Sure.” He says and then nods his head at the door in the middle, on the right side of the hallway. “It’s that one,” he continues, and then gives Draco a strained smile before moving past him, towards the end of the hallway.

Draco wonders what Potter had wanted to ask. What exactly does he want _them_ to do? He clenches his jaw and forces the question out, right as Potter opens the door to his room.

“Potter.” Draco says stiffly.

Potter turns to look at Draco over his shoulder. “Yeah?” He asks, lifting his brows in question.

“What did you want?” Draco asks with a blank voice, watching Potter carefully.

The man in question chews the inside of his cheek before he speaks. “Never mind. I’ll – I’ll see you later, yeah?”

Draco nods at him and Potter vanishes into his room.

He lets out a long breath, knowing that it is going to be a long day.

An hour later, they are finishing their breakfast in the private chamber, both the courtesy of Ms Bones – who Draco hasn’t really spoken to, not in school or after the war, but wonders how she ended up here, to run the pub. She seems friendly enough with Potter, and when Weasley arrives, with him as well.

It is somewhat uncomfortable, at first. Draco hasn’t seen Weasley in what has to be years, let alone spoken to him. However, to Draco’s surprise, Weasley is actually…civil. He gives Draco a polite nod, greeting him, before moving to shake hands with the Aurors and Potter.

The Aurors have been discussing their plans for the day throughout the breakfast, occasionally asking about the details of the scene from Draco. Potter has been using most of the time to make floocalls to a number of people: the Minister, the Auror office, their boss – who Draco has only met a handful of times after the war and after his hiring – and Weasley’s mother, apparently.

Potter then takes Weasley to the side to take a look at the book – his daughter’s book – and possibly to explain they will question the girl today.

Draco watches Weasley take in the news, the confusion and then the dread taking over his expression, but for some reason, he doesn’t feel a bit derisive towards the ginger-headed third of the Golden Trio. He watches Weasley to make a number of floocalls as well, and wonders, if he should be informing someone about his son’s situation. He already knows the answer _._ Why bring worry and trouble to others if nothing is certain yet?

He sighs, drinks the last of his tea before standing up and exiting the chamber, and goes to retrieve his belongings from his room upstairs before their departure to the school.

Apparently, the plan is that Berrycloth, Fungbury and Keir stay in Hogsmeade, while the rest – Potter, Quinn, Bones, Smith and Weasley – take their leave towards the school. The six Aurors currently standing by in the school will be given a break and much-needed time to sleep before they return back to the school for the following night.

The walk towards the school is a silent one, with Draco walking alone behind the group of Aurors and Weasley. He wonders why Potter’s wife has not joined them.

“Malfoy,” Potter says quietly, falling into step with Draco.

Draco glances at Potter; he looks quite authoritative with his perfectly tailored Auror robes, and the most serious expression. Potter looks nothing like the flustered and breathless version of him from this morning in the hallway. He looks nothing like the anxious boy from his school years, and nothing like he had been two years ago, the last time Draco has talked to him before yesterday.

“Potter.” Draco murmurs, looking ahead. The other Aurors seem to be minding their own business. “Isn’t – ” he clears his throat. “Is Mrs Potter not joining us?”

Potter is quiet for a bit before he replies, rather tightly, “Ginny’s not staying in the village. She’ll come straight to the school for the questionings.”

There’s something off with Potter’s voice, and Draco thinks back to the previous night, when he left the couple to the chamber. Perhaps they’d had an argument, and Weasley had gone back to home. “Trouble in paradise?” He asks half-jokingly, giving Potter a wry look.

Potter looks away, a strained look on his face. “That paradise has ceased to exist over two years ago,” he says very quietly.

 _What_? Draco nearly stumbles on a small rock as his mind goes rocketing into different directions. When Potter doesn’t continue, Draco clears his throat before he speaks. “You’ve lost me, I’m afraid,” He says mutedly, trying not to sound too curious.

Because, of-fucking-course he is curious.

Potter swallows hard and gives a frown at Draco. “It’s nothing,” He mutters, and then nods at the school, as they approach its gates looming ahead of them. “Have you been here? After – after school?” Potter asks, changing the subject, and for a tense moment, Draco was afraid Potter was going to say ‘after the war’, but when he doesn’t, Draco thinks the Hero of the Wizarding Britain _might_ have some working brain cells, after all.

What did Potter mean about his marriage? That they are not, in fact, a happily married couple anymore, and haven’t been that for the past two years? That they are not even together anymore? Draco doesn’t know how to interpret Potter’s words.

Two years ago. That sounds an awfully familiar amount of time, on Draco’s opinion. Is there a possibility that _certain events_ have had some impact on Potter’s ‘problems in paradise’? And if so, can Draco expect to be murdered in his sleep now that he’s left the safety of his Manor’s wards?

And why did Potter tell this to Draco? They are not friends, not at least on Draco’s half. Why would Potter open up about his personal life to Draco?

He realises Potter is waiting for him to answer. If Draco has visited the place after he had attended the school?

Well, Draco didn’t go back after the war, like some others did. He didn’t graduate from Hogwarts. What he did before he decided to become a Crime Scene Investigator, was taking care of the Malfoy investments and fortune, which didn’t really require a degree.

“No. I daresay I haven’t,” he says quietly, watching the castle in front of them with longing and sadness. There are too many good and bad memories he needs to swallow down and examine later in the confines of his room.

Potter nods. “We need to speak with the Headmistress first before starting the questioning. Do you mind if I am present when Quinn will question Scorpius?”

Draco doesn’t think it could make anything worse, and since he _thinks_ Potter thinks kindly of his son, and he knows that Auror Quinn will report everything to his boss nevertheless, he gives Potter a curt nod. “No. Go ahead.”

* * *

**Hogwarts, 10 January 2022**

As soon as Albus and Scorpius walk into the common room from their dormitory to meet the many anxious faces, they see Slughorn beckoning them to him. Albus shares a look with Scorpius, before they walk up to their Head of House. Slughorn tells them that the Headmistress wants to discuss with both of them before they’re allowed to head for breakfast, and says that he will accompany them shortly, after giving instructions to other students. Slughorn also tells them that the Aurors have cleared the school to be safe enough for students to have their meals in the Great Hall, attend classes and mandatory appointments, but that all other hours the students are expected to stay in their common rooms and dormitories, until the investigation is finished.

“What do you reckon she wants from us?” Albus asks quietly, as the two of them make their way up the stairs, towards the Headmistress’s office.

Scorpius gives Albus a thoughtful look. “Perhaps she wishes to know if we saw anything,” he says quietly.

“We did, didn’t we?” Albus asks pointedly. “I wonder what rubbish Riley has told them, if they’ve already talked to him…” _And they probably have talked to him_ , Albus reckons, since it was Riley, Westen and Woods who were talking to the Headmistress and a handful of professors before the rest of the school was informed about the incident.

Scorpius’s jaw tightens. “We’ll just tell them what happened; she bothered me about you, you told her and Riley to sod off,” he says tensely.

There’s a short silence as they start to walk along the corridor on the third floor. Albus watches Scorpius carefully. “So…should I tell them how strangely you’ve been acting since the train, or not?” He asks simply, as they turn a corner in the hallway.

Scorpius stops in his tracks, and turns to gape at Albus. “W-What?”

Albus’s brows lift up. “That! I mean _that_! You’re acting like you – like you _know_ something about,” then he glances around them before he continues, “ _what happened to Travers.”_ he whispers _._

Scorpius’s eyes widen in surprise. “I don’t know anything!” He almost shouts. “I’m –” Scorpius’s voice suddenly dies away, his gaze fixed at somewhere over Albus’s shoulder.

Albus quickly turns and sees Professor Fox, a tall man with wavy black hair and severe eyebrows – the Head of Gryffindor and their Defence professor – standing there, his hands clasped behind his back.

“Good morning, Mr Malfoy, Mr Potter,” Fox says steadily, his sharp gaze moving between them. “I believe we have the same direction?” Albus and Scorpius stare at him blankly. “To see the Headmistress?” Fox adds.

Both Albus and Scorpius give him wary nods. Albus's mind whirls: _Why is Fox joining them?_

Fox gestures at the hallway behind them, “Shall we go, then?”

They walk the rest of the way in silence, until they reach the gargoyle, and all Albus can think of is what Fox might have heard from his and Scorpius’s argument. Fox gives the password, and then they take the stairs up before stepping into the Headmistress’s office.

As soon as the door closes behind them, Scorpius falters in his steps, and Albus realises the reason for it a second later, when he sees Scorpius’s father, Mr Malfoy sitting in front of the Headmistress’s table – along with – “James? Dad?” Albus asks, and then frowns, “Rose? Uncle?”

Indeed, his father and brother sit there, along with his cousin Rose and her father.

The Headmistress stands up and gestures for them to move forward. “Good morning, Mr Malfoy. Mr Potter. Cassius,” She says and flicks her wand to conjure a set of straight-backed chairs – similar to the ones already occupied – in front of her desk. “Please, sit down.”

Albus and Scorpius exchange a quick glance before they move forward and take their seats; Albus next to his brother, and Scorpius next to his father. Professor Fox moves to the side where Professor Flitwick is already sitting in a chair against the wall.

Slughorn shows up a moment later, panting slightly and gives the Headmistress a nod as she greets him, before he accompanies Fox and Flitwick.

The Headmistress clears her throat. “I have summoned you here, as it has come to our attention that all of you,” she says, glancing each of the students in turn, “have had some contact with Miss Travers either during the train ride, or before that.”

Albus rolls his eyes inwardly, wondering what exactly Riley has said, since he thinks it can’t be anyone else. He remembers that neither his father or his Head of House has confirmed that it actually _was_ Travers. “So, it _is_ Travers?” He says before he can stop himself.

His father gives him a sharp look.

The Headmistress looks exasperated. “I’m sure all of you have already heard about it from your house Prefects or through the Hogwarts’s grapevine. I will make the official announcement during breakfast.”

“So, you think one of us did it, then?” James asks, narrowing his eyes at their father, looking somewhat offended.

Their father shakes his head to James. “Of course not. But all of you might have valuable information for the investigation. We need to know everything that has happened between all of you and Miss Travers. You can help us to figure this out, to find the reason for her death.”

Albus’s eyes move from James who seems confused and a bit shocked, to Scorpius who sits rigidly in place looking like he’s going to chunder at any moment, to his cousin Rose who trembles under the protective arm her father has thrown over her shoulders, looking terrified. Albus tries to think if one of them could’ve done it, but he can’t. He can’t even picture it happening by accident.

The Headmistress eyes Albus, James, Scorpius and Rose. “And as each of you is either related to the Auror leading the case or to the crime scene investigator investigating it,” She says, nodding at Albus’s father, “Mr Potter has arranged an Auror to carry out the questioning. You will be accompanied by your parents and your Heads of House. Although, Mr Potter,” she adds, looking at James, “as you are of age, you may decide if you wish to include your parents. However, since we are at school grounds, Professor Fox will accompany you nevertheless.”

James swallows hard and gives her a shrug. “I don’t mind if mum and dad are there.”

The Headmistress watches everyone with a grim look. “Then, Mr Potter,” she says, addressing Albus’s father, “I believe you may proceed after breakfast.”

They are all dismissed, and Albus’s dad ushers them out just as he hears Rose inquiring if her mother will be there.

“Dad?” Albus asks, as they walk down the spiral staircase. “Mum’s gonna be here, right?” He asks, glancing back at his dad.

His father gives him a nod. “She will. Now, I want to talk to both of you before you go to breakfast,” he says seriously. “Come on,” he adds, walking along the corridor, and stepping into the nearest class room – Muggle Studies, Albus thinks, but is not sure since he’s not taking the subject – and throwing some charms against the door after both James and Albus have walked inside.

“Sit down,” their father grunts, and waves his wrist to summon three chairs to them.

Albus and James glance at each other, before sitting down. However, their father doesn’t. Instead, he starts pacing behind his chair.

“I want to know exactly what went through your heads when you organised a party at my house, and failed to ask permission for it,” is what he starts with, and Albus can almost hear the groan James must be doing inwardly.

“Dad, it was just a party,” James says coolly, and Albus cringes.

Their father gives James a furious look. “ _JUST_ a party, James?!” He almost yells. “ _Just_ a party? I suppose you were all sober at this party, hm?” He asks, lifting his brows James’s, who fidgets in his seat.

“Bloody hell, James!” They father hisses, his eyes widening in dread as he sees and interprets James’s expression. “You organised a party _with_ alcohol _and_ underage wizards and witches?!”

Albus can see a vein ticking in their father’s temple, as the man keeps grinding his teeth together in order to not explode in rage.

“You organised a party, where you apparently had a dispute with the girl who was possibly killed on your train ride back to school?” Their father continues starkly, his eyes blazing.

James looks stunned, almost frightened, and he shakes his head slightly. “I don’t – I didn’t –” He stammers.

Their father takes in a deep breath and closes his eyes for a moment. He breathes out, and then looks somewhat calmer as he sits down opposite to Albus and James. “I do not suspect either one of you, I want you to know that. I know you are not capable of such things, and would’ve come to me if you had seen anything or heard of anything related to Miss Travers’s death. I _know_ that, boys,” he says, giving both Albus and James a sincere look.

“However, you have been seen with her in the recent past. Have been seen having an argument,” he says to James, “or,” He mutters, looking at Albus, something close to disappointment in his eyes, “having a relationship with the girl.”

Albus curses inwardly.

“Those things alone make you closer to the girl than most of the students here,” their father states.

Albus takes in a deep breath. “Look, dad. It was months ago. I haven’t even talked to her that much since then –” He says, but is interrupted by his father.

“Why didn’t you tell me that you were seeing someone?” He asks, looking confused.

Albus sees James lifting his brows and quickly looking away. _Bloody wanker,_ Albus thinks sourly.

His father trails a hand through his hair, “You say you dated her months ago, but then you invited her into a party not two weeks ago?”

Albus scoffs, inwardly cursing James, for getting him into this mess. “First of all, it was my _lovely brother_ , who decided to invite her just to mess with all of our heads, it seems,” he says, throwing a glare at James, who has the audacity to roll his eyes at Albus.

“Secondly – is that why I’m being questioned? Because I dated her four months ago?” He asks, gritting his teeth, thinking spitefully that the Aurors should then probably question the whole school if that was the reason.

Their father looks from Albus to James and back, his brow creased. “Why didn’t you tell me that you dated her?” He asks again.

Albus feels rage surging inside him. “Why would I have? Why should I tell you every time some daft witch decides to chase their fifteen minutes of fame?” He asks harshly, scowling at his father. “Why should I tell you about the one time I thought it wasn’t the case, and got bit in the arse because of it?”

Their father looks utterly bewildered. “What are you talking about? What – what fifteen minutes of fame?”

Albus gives his father a disbelieving look. “You really don’t have a clue,” He mutters with annoyance.

“No, I don’t!” Their father yells. “So, tell me, and I might even understand you, Albus!” He says desperately.

Albus crosses his arms and looks away. When he doesn’t say anything, their father turns to James. “James?” He asks, his voice still filled with confusion.

James clears his throat, and Albus can feel his brother looking at him before he speaks. “There are… um… some people, who… make advances at Albus because, well, basically because he looks like you. Like _the_ _Saviour_ ,” James says, a hint of disdain in his voice.

“W-What?” Their father says quietly. “What kind of advances?”

James snorts.

“Albus?” Their father asks, his voice hard.

Albus turns his gaze back to his father, giving him a blank look. “I suppose they want to brag they’ve shagged the son of _the_ celebrity of the wizarding world,” he says with a shrug, aiming for indifference.

Their father looks horrified. “W-What?”

Albus shakes his head. He can’t believe he just said that to his father, and also – why would his father even be shocked? Surely, he himself has encountered similar people, being the actual Saviour.

“What – what about Miss Travers?” Albus’s father asks after a short moment. “She was one of those people, then? But…but you thought differently of her?” He asks. When Albus says nothing, their father turns to James. “The dispute at the party was about Albus?” He asks, apparently putting two and two together.

James nods, and then gives their father a short summary of what happened at the party. James also tells him it was the last time he spoke to the girl.

“I saw her on the train,” Albus says when James finishes with his summary.

Their father’s gaze whips back to Albus, and Albus is surprised as he had thought that _that_ was the reason he was going to be questioned – not because he dated the witch.

“You saw her?” His father asks curiously. “When was this?”

Albus’s mind spins. He wonders, why Scorpius is being questioned? If the Aurors didn’t know that Albus talked – or rowed, more like – with Travers and Riley, then surely they don’t know about Scorpius’s involvement either.

“Why is Scorpius going to be questioned?” Albus asks instead of replying.

His father frowns at him. “Answer me, Albus.”

Albus narrows his eyes at his father. “An hour – maybe two – before Hogsmeade. Why is Scorpius going to be questioned?”

His father clears his throat, and looks a bit unsure. “He…was seen having an argument with Miss Travers, close to the time when you saw her as well.”

Albus shakes his head, giving his father an incredulous look. “I know. I was with him then. And I believe _I_ was the one arguing with Travers and her boyfriend.”

His father looks stunned again, and then demands that Albus explains everything that occurred during the train ride. Albus does, although he decides to leave out how weirdly Scorpius has acted since, as it might not have anything to do with what happened to Travers, even though the small voice inside Albus’s head kind of tells him otherwise.

Their father discharges Albus and James and tells them to go have breakfast, and adds that Albus and Scorpius will be questioned first, as both of them have a free period in the morning. James’s questioning will be after lunch, and Rose’s after her afternoon classes.

Albus wonders who the hell had told the Aurors that it was _Scorpius_ who was arguing with Travers, and conveniently left Albus out of their statement. He knows the Prefects were questioned the previous night, and he can only assume it had been one of them. Not Riley though – since the wanker most likely would have said that the whole incident was all Albus’s doing.

But who was it? Someone who hates Scorpius? Albus doesn’t think there are students – or Prefects – who’d hate Scorpius, since Scorpius doesn’t really ruffle anyone’s feathers as he rarely even talks to people other than Albus and their dorm mates. Albus doesn’t think anyone would want to harm Scorpius and downright _lie_ to the Aurors to make it seem like Scorpius had something to do with Travers’s death.

He walks into the Great Hall and sees Scorpius sitting at their table with Julian and Zachary, keeping his eyes at his plate while their other two friends seem to be in the middle of a discussion opposite to him.

“Hey, guys,” Albus says and slumps next to Scorpius. “What’s going on?” He asks, glancing from Scorpius to Julian and Zachary.

Zachary gives him a meaningful look. “McGonagall informed the school about Travers,” he says blankly. “She said that everyone who saw Travers during the train ride, should come forth for questioning.”

Albus rolls his eyes. “This is ridiculous. I mean, yeah, both Scor and I saw her, but we don’t have anything to do with what happened to her,” he says, feeling exasperated.

As if the murderer _would_ come forward. And questioning everyone who saw Travers yesterday, could take days – there could be hundreds of people who saw even a glimpse of her. Albus starts to fill his plate, still somewhat bothered by the questioning looming ahead and what he already endured with his father.

The mealtime is over quickly, too soon on Albus’s opinion. Albus and Scorpius leave their friends to enjoy their free time, and make their way towards the unused classroom in the Entrance Hall – the one they were instructed to come to after breakfast.

“Apparently, someone told the Aurors that you were fighting with Travers in the train, alone.” Albus tells Scorpius quietly, as they walk towards the Entrance Hall.

Scorpius flinches, and glances at Albus. “But you were there as well.”

Albus gives his friend a grim nod. “I know. I told my dad what happened, don’t worry. And I’ll tell them the truth now. I just wonder…who would’ve told them such a lie?” he says. _Surely Riley would have corrected them, and instead told the Aurors that he’d seen only Albus in a row with his girlfriend. He’s that much of an arse_ , Albus thinks.

But then, as Albus sees the people outside the classroom they are heading to, he realises the answer to his question at once.

“Who indeed,” Scorpius murmurs, the contempt evident in his voice.

Both Scott sisters and Westen are standing outside of the classroom with a man and a woman, who Albus thinks must be their parents. Scorpius’s father stands further down the hall, evidently waiting for his son.

Albus doesn’t spare a glance at the three Hufflepuffs, and instead makes his way towards Scorpius’s father, making Scorpius follow him, since there is no way the blonde Slytherin would go to stand with the Scotts and Westen – or alone.

“Hi, Mr Malfoy,” Albus says politely, nodding at the man who in appearance is almost as much alike with his son, as Albus is with his father.

Mr Malfoy gives him a strained smile. “Just _Draco_ , Albus, you know that,” he murmurs, and then glances at Scorpius before he clears his throat.

“They will start with Scorpius, proceed with the Scott girls and then Albus, then Miss Westen,” Scorpius’s father says stiffly. “The Aurors are waiting for Miss Westen’s parents and your mother to arrive,” he adds to Albus after seeing the curious look on his face.

Mr Malfoy is about to say something to his son, when the door to the classroom opens. Albus’s father walks out with one of the Aurors. Auror Quinn – Albus thinks, remembering the man from one of his visits to the Auror office.

His father gives Scorpius’s father a tense nod and clears his throat.

“Mr Malfoy. Scorpius.” Albus’s father says simply. “Come in, please.”

Scorpius’s father walks forward and Scorpius follows, his back rigid. Scorpius looks back to share one last look with Albus, before he steps into the classroom.

It is not long until Albus’s mum arrives, giving him a tight hug and telling him he has nothing to worry about. Albus doesn’t know how much his parents have discussed what Albus told his father before breakfast – if anything – but Albus sure as hell is not going to say anything now.

Instead they talk about other things; how his mother has managed to get a full interview - with all the sordid details - out of a famous and previously somewhat aloof Quidditch star; a piece she was working on somewhere in Europe.

Then his mother inquires if Albus has already decided which NEWTs he’ll take, and Albus lets out a frustrated groan. He doesn’t want to talk about this with her, especially not here, not when every five minutes both Scott sisters and Westen send him surreptitious looks. He shrugs his mother’s questions off, and is glad that the door to the classroom opens after that.

“Scor?” Albus asks, and frowns as Scorpius walks closer to him, but doesn’t actually look at Albus.

“Malfoy.” Albus’s mother says coldly, her eyes at Scorpius’s father, who trails behind his son.

 _And what is with her?_ Albus wonders. Even Albus’s father seems to be coming along with Scorpius’s father, and they were the ones who were brawling their entire time at school.

Scorpius’s father looks at Albus’s mother. “Potter,” he says, his voice blank and face expressionless. He then turns to his son, his features softer. “Let’s go. I’ll take you to your common room.”

Scorpius glances at Albus. “I’ll talk to you later,” he mutters, and then walks towards the Slytherin house, not stopping to wait for his father.

Albus frowns at his friend’s back while he hears his mum grumble something under her breath about ‘even his son not getting along with him’. He then sees his father, talking to who must be the Scott sisters’ parents, since Westen’s parents haven’t yet arrived. Albus sees his father sending a worried look at their direction, before gesturing Hazel Scott and her parents to the classroom.

What was that about? What did Scorpius say in there?

Albus lets out a weary sigh, feeling edgy. The bloody waiting is killing him. He needs to see his friend and ask what happened. He needs to talk to his father, so that he can ask if Scorpius is in trouble. He wants to walk up to the Scott sisters and Westen and demand from them if any of them lied to the Aurors, and put Scorpius in this mess in the first place.

But he doesn’t. Instead, he stands quietly, not really answering to his mother with more than one or two words in form of grunts when she continues to grill him about his school work, his future plans and so on. Hazel comes out of the room, and then it’s Pamela’s turn. Time crawls forward in a snail’s pace, and finally Pamela Scott and her parents walk to the Entrance Hall.

Albus needs one look at the fifth year Hufflepuff’s terrified and ashamed expression to know it was her who had lied about Albus’s whereabouts on the train. He grits his teeth and steps into the room after his mother and father.

Quinn is there, as are Slughorn, Moonstone and the Headmistress.

Albus, his father and mother sit at the teacher’s table opposite to Quinn. The professors sit behind them around a small round table.

Quinn introduces himself – kind of unnecessary, as both Albus and his mother have met the guy before – and then explains how the investigation will go forward. He tells them that they do not have any suspects yet, and that they are only hoping to get as much information about the train ride and the victim – Albus almost shudders at that – as possible.

Quinn tells them that he talked with Albus’s father, who told him what Albus had said this morning – that Albus did see the victim on the train. “Why don’t you start by telling us about the train ride? What happened and who were you with until the moment you saw Miss Travers?”

Albus clears his throat and starts to tell every detail he can remember to Quinn, who looks quite calm and friendly. He starts from the point when their father brought all the children – including Scorpius, who had spent his holidays at the Potters – to the station. After saying their goodbyes, he and Scorpius went to other direction than Lily and James; to meet their Slytherin classmates. Albus tells Quinn how he, Scorpius, Julian – whenever he wasn’t patrolling the corridors – and Cecil spent the better part of the train ride together in their compartment. He explains how he went to change into his robes, one to two hours before the train reached Hogsmeade, and when he came back, his compartment was empty. He tells Quinn how he assumed his friends were all changing into their robes, but when none of them returned, he went to look for Scorpius.

Albus tells Quinn how he found Scorpius; with Travers bothering him and talking rubbish about Albus, and then Albus explains how he told her to bugger off.

“How did she take it?” Quinn asks.

Albus frowns at the man. “She…told me to mind my own business and if not, she’d tell the other students some things I’ve told her confidentially.”

Quinn’s eyes flicker momentarily to Albus’s father. “When you dated her, you mean?” He asks calmly from Albus.

“You _dated_ her, Albus?” Albus’s mother asks, her voice rising.

Albus’s father shakes his head at her. “Ginny.” Albus knows there’s a warning in his tone, but he couldn’t care less.

Albus shrugs at Quinn. “Yeah. She – um – I thought she actually wanted to be with me, but apparently, all she wanted, was to fuck a copy of the Chosen One and brag about it afterw– “

Albus’s father clears his throat loudly, “I think that’s enough!”

“ _What?!”_ Albus’s mother interrupts. “She wanted _what,_ exactly?!” She shrieks, staring at Albus with an outraged look.

Albus doesn’t look at his mother, and barely listens as his parents start yelling over the other, before the Headmistress cries loudly, “For Merlin’s sake, Harry. Ginevra! Pull yourself together!”

They both become silent, and Albus kind of regrets what he said, as he glances at Quinn – who looks like he has never been this embarrassed.

Quinn clears his throat a couple of times, and definitely avoids Albus’s mothers sharp glare. Albus can relate to that. She can be somewhat frightening. “So…you…” Quinn clears his throat again, glancing at his notes, “You were in bad terms?”

Albus rolls his eyes. “Yes, we _were_. Like, for one month after she broke up with me. Which was at the end of September. It’s safe to say we both avoided each other after that. I didn’t talk to her until the train. I only saw her at the party, but I definitely didn’t invite her there.”

Quinn gives Albus a thoughtful look, and is silent for a moment. “Why do you think your brother invited her there? To the party?”

Albus sighs. “I don’t know. He wanted to humiliate her in front of everyone. I suppose it was to pay back for the shit she did to me,” he says, and as his parents give him shocked looks, he continues, “James didn’t have any beef with her. He didn’t even know her.”

Quinn watches Albus carefully, before he speaks. “You said she threatened to reveal your personal and confidentially told information to others. How did you feel about that?”

Albus feels his father shifting next to him, and as he looks, he can see the deep frown he gives to Quinn. Albus looks back at Quinn. “I told her that I didn’t care if she did. I thought that if I didn’t need to be bothered by her again, I’d gladly let her _reveal_ my business to everyone,” he says with a shrug.

Quinn nods slowly. “Why do you say Miss Travers was talking,” he glances at his notes, “rubbish, about you to Scorpius, when you found them?”

Albus lifts his brows at Quinn. “Scorpius told me.” He then sees Quinn looking at his notes again. “Why? What did Scorpius say to you?” Albus asks with suspicion.

Quinn gives Albus a tight smile. “I’m afraid I cannot speak about it.” He glances at his notes, and then back at Albus. “How would you describe your relationship with Scorpius?”

Albus chuckles, involuntarily. “We’re best friends?” He says, somewhat bewildered by the question.

Quinn doesn’t say more to the subject, and continues to ask a couple of more questions about the train ride, before Albus is released. His parents want to talk with him, and Albus knows it is only about his history with Jenna and about the fame-seeking students, so he shrugs them off, telling them he needs to go to his dorm to get his books before lunch and his afternoon classes.

What he actually needs to do, is to talk with Scorpius.

“Albus,” Pamela Scott calls quietly, lurking in the dungeon corridor.

Albus gives her a frown. She’s an example case of those fame-seeking witches, along with her sister, and Albus doesn’t really want to talk to her. But he’s curious to know if she was the one lying to the Aurors. Lying to his father. _About his best friend_ , he thinks with anger flaring inside of him.

“What?” He asks bluntly, stopping in his tracks.

Scott looks troubled. “Can I…could I speak with you for a moment?”

Albus chews the corner of his mouth, glancing around him. “Yeah, fine. Let’s go somewhere private,” he mutters, and then walks with her to the nearest classroom. He definitely doesn’t want to be seen with her.

But Scott seems to understand it wrongly. Very, _very,_ wrongly.

As soon as the door closes, she jumps on him, pinning him against the door, before her lips come crashing against his, their teeth knocking together.

“Umph! Pamela!” Albus gasps and wrenches himself away from her, stumbling backwards. “W-What the hell?” He breathes, gaping at her.

Scott blinks, her lip trembling. “I thought you…”

“No, I definitely don’t.” Albus says quickly, and gives her a horrified look. “Why would you think that?” He asks, hoping that the witch doesn’t start crying.

Scott sniffs and swallows deeply, looking at the floor. “I’m – Merlin, I’m such a fool…”

Albus wants to say he definitely agrees, but he chooses to keep it to himself. The girl looks close to tears already. Instead he clears his throat. “Why did you think I’d – I’d be, um…into you?” He asks, and then leans against the teacher’s table, watching her with an arched brow.

Scott takes in a shaky breath. “You wanted to come here, and I – I thought that…after the questioning, what I did…that you’d be grateful…”

It takes about thirty seconds for Albus to realise what exactly has happened. Yes, he was suspecting that Scott was the one who had told the Aurors that it was only Scorpius who had been having a row with Travers. But now he understands why.

He takes in an exasperated breath. “Scott…Pamela…why did you lie to the Aurors? To…to – what? To _protect_ me?” he asks, his voice filled with incredulity.

Scott frowns at Albus, and then gives him a small shrug.

“Why?” Albus asks, feeling utterly bewildered. Yes, the girl definitely is what he described earlier, but why would she lie to bloody _Aurors_ for him? They don’t even know each other, for Salazar’s sake!

Scott blushes furiously. “I…I think I’m in love with you,” She says, giving Albus a desperate look.

Albus gapes at her, thinking about what the bloody hell the girl just said. “You don’t even know me! How could you – how can you think that you’re in –” _Fuck_ , he thinks, “– what you just said.” He finishes, feeling quite uncomfortable.

“It feels like I know you,” She says very quietly, taking a step towards him. “Like we have a connection.”

Albus’s eyes widen with shock. “You – are you on love potion? Has someone – just – I _really_ don’t feel the same for you, I’m afraid,” He says harshly, clenching his jaw, feeling very, _very_ uncomfortable. He thinks he could have handled this better…

Scott looks…disappointed. For someone, who is... _in love_ , she doesn’t really react the way Albus thought she would have. Nevertheless, Albus is relieved. Perhaps, this will not become a nightmare for him.

“What did you tell them, just now? Did you tell them the truth about what happened on the train? That I was there, and I was the one who told Riley and Travers to sod off?” Albus asks, forcing his voice to stay calm.

Scott seems embarrassed. “I – I told them that you were there, but, um…”

“What?” Albus asks with a tight voice.

“I didn’t tell them exactly _why_ I lied before. And now…they think someone told me to say you were there,” she says quietly, not looking at Albus.

Albus feels anger and dread mix in the bottom of his stomach. “Shit…shit, shit shit…fuck!” He curses, and Scott flinches.

“Why the hell did you do this?! Now they’re questioning me _and_ my best friend, because of you!” He yells, feeling nothing but frustration and rage towards the witch.

Scott lets out a muffled sob.

“Don’t you fucking dare to cry on me,” Albus grits out, as a tear escapes from the corner of her eye. He wants to hex her. He wants to – he wants to – he wants to get the bloody hell away from her! “I’m leaving. Stay – stay away from me.” He says harshly, marching past her and slamming the door closed behind him.

He is breathless with fury when he finally barges into his dorm room.

“Albus?” Scorpius asks, sitting on his bed.

Albus takes a couple of heaving breaths, and stares at his friend – who looks…rather pale, actually. A bit nauseous. The dorm is otherwise empty.

“Are you okay?” Scorpius asks quietly, absently.

Albus is too stunned by the recent events to point out how odd Scorpius appears. He feels angered. He feels exasperated. He stomps towards his bed and tells his friend about Scott.

Scorpius is both irked and amused by the events, and tells Albus that he needs to seriously start thinking about dying his hair or at least getting fat. But to Albus, it all seems like Scorpius’s heart is not in it, like his mind is somewhere else, and like he’s merely trying to say the right things so that Albus would leave him be.

Albus tries to question Scorpius, to make him tell Albus how his questioning went, but Scorpius shrugs him off, simply telling him that nothing particularly interesting came up. Albus has a feeling that his friend hasn’t told him everything there is to tell.


	6. It is the psychology I seek

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sooo...the rating is now changed. Some explicit stuff at the end ;)  
> Thank you for reading!

**Chapter 6:** **It is the psychology I seek**

**10 January 2022**

“What do you think, boss?” Quinn asks, after they’ve questioned both Miss Westen and Mr Riley – for the second time.

Harry doesn’t know what to think anymore. He puts his glasses on the table in front of him and presses the heels of his palms against his eyes, trying to sort out his thoughts.

It is almost one in the afternoon, and they have questioned Scorpius, both Scott sisters, Albus, Miss Westen, and Mr Riley. And it seems that their stories have a lot of inconsistencies.

According to Scorpius, he had talked with Travers on the train, where she had threatened to spread rumours about Scorpius and Albus being… well, more than friends – which doesn’t make any sense to Harry. The two of them have never appeared to be interested in each other romantically, at least not in front of Harry. Why had Travers even made such a threat? Scorpius had told Quinn, that he had no idea why Travers had said such things, but Harry can’t stop feeling that perhaps Scorpius knows exactly what the reason behind Travers’s threat was. Did Scorpius feel threatened by something else the deceased girl knew? Would that have been enough for Scorpius to act? To harm her?

Pamela Scott’s version of the events had changed between the two interrogations. Why would she first claim that Scorpius was the one having an argument with Travers on the train, and then the next day say that Albus had been there with him? Is it possible that someone had told her to say such things? She hadn’t given Harry any explanation for her lies, and merely claimed that she had forgot the details. Harry doesn’t really buy that.

And then there’s Albus. Harry sighs wearily. Albus’s version actually sounded like it could’ve been the truth, but then again, there is history between him and the victim, there is the party… and then there had been that rather shocking reveal about how other people – witches, mainly – see him, and treat him.

Harry wants to yell at the top of his lungs. He never wanted it; the fame, people fawning over him. He never wanted any of that for himself, and definitely not for his children. How did Albus describe it? Fifteen minutes of fame, was it? That witches – underage girls – want to… want to _sleep_ _with him_ , just so they can tell their friends that they’ve been with the Chosen One look-a-like? Harry bristles. He feels shocked. He feels angered. He feels powerless. He is the one who is supposed to protect his children, and the fact that he is the reason for Albus’s troubles, is…overwhelming.

Miss Westen and Mr Riley both had failed to mention during their first questioning that there had been a dispute on the train between Travers, Riley, Scorpius and Albus – which Westen saw taking place and Riley in fact participated in. Westen claimed that she hadn’t thought it had been important, while Riley told Harry that he didn’t want to say anything, since he was ashamed as he had thought that his girlfriend had still had some feelings for Albus – something they had been fighting over in their compartment afterwards, instead of making out.

Harry wonders if the dispute Moonstone had heard had also been about Albus.

“Sir?” Quinn asks quietly.

Harry and Quinn are having a quick bite to eat in the classroom they’ve been using for questioning the students, and simultaneously going through the results of the morning’s interrogations.

Harry squints at Quinn, before putting his glasses back on. “I want to question the boyfriend under Veritaserum. Both Scott sisters, Miss Westen, and – Scorpius as well,” Harry says wearily, grimacing inwardly as he thinks how Malfoy will take the news.

Quinn nods slowly. “And Albus?” He asks carefully.

Harry sighs, looking out from the window, to the snowy landscape. His sons should be enjoying the weather after their classes, and not be questioned for murder. Still, if there is a way to speed things up, he knows it is with Veritaserum. And if Albus truly has spoken the truth, wouldn’t it be better to question him once more, and be done with it?

“I trust my son. I do not believe he’s done anything to aid Travers’s death, _but_ …in the eyes of law, he _does_ have a motive. Revenge…protecting himself or his best friend by making sure Travers was unable to fulfil her threats,” Harry tells Quinn, chewing the inside of his cheek.

He wonders, how Albus will take it?

Quinn gives him a small nod. “I agree.” He then glances at the timepiece on the wall. “Nearly one. James is coming now, right?”

Harry nods, just as there’s a knock on the door. Quinn flicks his wand to clear the table while Harry goes to open the door. Ginny marches inside, a hint of a scowl in her expression, still undoubtedly steaming after what Albus had told Quinn, and somehow, deciding it is Harry’s fault. Which Harry thinks it kind of is, but it is not like Harry had any say about the matter. He didn’t choose to be the Chosen One – that was all Voldemort. All his life, he’s tried to stay away from the spotlight, and Ginny knows it as well. Harry knows she will eventually calm down and apologise. He just hopes she will do so sooner than later, as they really need to go over the circumstances of Albus’s situation together, and do something about it.

Behind Ginny, there’s Professor Fox – James’s Head of House, and James.

Harry greets Fox and gives his son a reassuring smile.

“James. Come here,” Harry says and gestures for James to sit next to Ginny, before taking the seat on James’s other side.

Fox sits in the corner, while Quinn retakes his seat behind the desk.

“Hello, James,” Quinn says with a small smile.

James nods at Quinn. “Laurean.” James says easily. Quinn’s lips twitch.

Harry knows that the two of them are somewhat acquainted, as both of them are Quidditch fanatics, and have shared many conversations about the sport whenever James has stopped by the Ministry during the school holidays.

Quinn schools his features and clears his throat. “We would like to know more about the party that took place in your home, on New Year’s Eve,” he tells James, and Harry is bloody relieved he had the time to speak to Ginny about that little bit of information, as he practically feels her bristling on James’s other side.

She had screamed her voice hoarse an hour and a half earlier, when Harry had spoken with her after Riley’s interrogation. Harry had explained her everything Albus and James had told him earlier, and everything he was allowed to say to her regarding the investigation. Ginny had been beside herself with anger, her magic sparkling around her threateningly. It wasn’t of course all meant for Harry; she was fuming at James for organising a party, including alcohol, which made it much more serious, since some of the guests had been underage. James could be arrested for it – even if he had nothing to do with other people’s drinks. Harry knew that Ginny was also angry at herself for bailing to work and leaving Harry with the kids; annoyed at Harry for leaving the kids by themselves and going to work on New Year’s Eve and being gone for the night; disappointed at Albus for not telling them he had been dating someone four months ago. She was also furious at the wizarding world in general for their obsession about Harry Potter, and how it was causing pain and sorrow to her son.

James starts by telling how he had agreed to spend the night with some of his friends, and how it then somewhat expanded into a party when his friends brought their friends, and Albus had invited his friends. He tells how one of his classmates took Muggle Studies with Travers, and how Travers had been disliked by many of his friends. How she had been disliked by James as well, after she had messed around with his brother.

James admits that he might’ve got the idea of inviting her to the party and getting back at her, since he – and the rest of his friends – thought she deserved it. James ducks his head slightly, saying that they didn’t really think she’d come, even though they knew exactly how much she craved to be included into the group of the popular students in Hogwarts.

Quinn looks James silently for a moment. “But she came?”

James clears his throat and looks up at Quinn. “Yeah,” he mutters, swallowing hard. “After that…I gathered everyone together, and – um – basically told her that she was a daft cow to not realise we were taking the piss out of her – that she had to be deranged to even think we’d invite such a slag to party with us,” James says very quietly, looking everywhere but at Harry, Ginny or Quinn.

Ginny lets out a shocked breath, gaping at James. Harry is similarly stunned; he stares at his son, feeling horrified, and wonders who is this boy and what has he done to Harry’s good-mannered son James? Because until now Harry had been sure James doesn’t speak like that about others, or treat others like he apparently had.

“ _JAMES!”_ Ginny cries, looking appalled and speechless. “How can you speak to – to _anyone_ – like that?!” Ginny yells, shaking her head in disbelief.

Harry glances at Quinn, and sees how he too looks completely taken aback.

James stares at the floor with a strained look. “I’m not proud of what I said. But, what he did to Albus – “

“Surely it wasn’t that bad!” Ginny says in outrage.

James’s gaze snaps to his mother; he gives her a deep glare. “You don’t even know what happened!” James says heatedly, “She embarrassed him! Broke up with him one morning, with a new boyfriend already, in front of the entire school, just like that!”

Ginny gasps, her anger faltering.

And Harry is even more stunned, if possible, since… James and Albus, they get along, but they have never been as close as Lily and James, or Lily and Albus. The fact that James would defend his brother – and Harry admits that the means to do so were rather harsh – makes his chest warm a bit.

James lifts his chin and looks at Quinn, “I’m not proud of what I did, but she was a b…I mean, many people disliked her,” James says simply.

Quinn nods at him. “Why did it take so long for you to get back at her?” Quinn asks carefully, and glances at Harry. “Albus and Miss Travers did break up at the end of September?”

Harry has been thinking the same thing. Why get back at her several months later, if Albus and Travers hadn’t been in any contact between September and the end of December?

James gives Quinn a shrug. “I wouldn’t have, but then I heard her on the train, when we were on the journey back home for the holidays, and she was…talking about Albus to her friends,” James says, his voice cold.

“Oh?” Quinn asks, “What did she say?”

Harry holds his breath, staring at James intently.

James shifts in his seat, looking very uncomfortable. “She, um…she said,” James murmurs, and gives Harry an apologising look. “She said ‘I hope for all the single women in the wizarding world, that Harry Potter is not as useless in the sack, as his son is.’”

All air leaves from Harry’s lungs.

“W-What?” Ginny whispers, and Harry knows even without looking, what Ginny thinks.

Albus actually slept with the girl.

And then, something heavy and unpleasant drops in his stomach, as he realises something else. What James had heard Travers say on the train, implicates that she knew Harry was single and possibly looking for a partner. He thinks, if Albus had known about his parents’ separation, and told Travers about it.

Harry wonders, if Lily knows too.

Harry barely listens as Ginny starts to demand details from James about Albus’s relationships, and this group of witches that seems very much like some kind of a twisted Harry -fan club. James tells Ginny he doesn’t want to know about his brother’s personal life, and that Albus sure as hell doesn’t tell anything to him.

Ginny and James continue bickering, while Harry is deep in thought. Albus, his sixteen-year-old son, has…been with a girl. Girls, possibly. Harry feels a sizable lump in his throat. Is that – is it normal? It probably is, he reckons. He and Ginny weren’t that much older when they reached that same level of intimacy. Perhaps they would have got there sooner, if the war had not been raging around them? Still, it seems that his son is growing up so fast that he has barely been able to hold on. So many details of Albus’s life have come forth during the past day that Harry wonders how well he really knows his son?

His thoughts are interrupted by Quinn, who manages to silence Ginny with a serious expression before he asks James to continue explaining the events of the party.

Apparently, Travers left soon after the uncomfortable incident, and James and his friends stayed up until the early morning hours. He doesn’t mention the alcohol, and to Harry’s embarrassment and relief, Quinn doesn’t ask about it.

James then speaks about his train ride, after Quinn asks him to, and he tells Quinn that he didn’t see Travers on the ride back. He tells them he spent the most of the ride with his girlfriend and his friends, and only left them for thirty minutes when he briefly met Rose and Hugo, one to two hours before the train reached Hogsmeade.

Harry thinks that other than the thirty minutes during which James was not in his compartment, his story seems perfectly unquestionable.

* * *

An hour later, Harry’s in for another row with Ginny, as he asks her permission to have Albus questioned under Veritaserum.

“…I _know_ it’ll clear him of your ‘suspects’,” she says with an arched brow, “but that still doesn’t eliminate the fact that you are talking about him like he _has_ something to confess. Him being private about his life has now spurred you on, and you’re certain he is hiding something!” Ginny rants.

Harry lets out a weary sigh and briefly closes his eyes. “Look, Gin, – “

“Don’t ‘Gin’ me, Harry!” Ginny hisses, “This is on us! We should’ve been there, and not let our jobs come before our children!” She says, her voice anxious. “There wouldn’t have been any parties on New Year’s, and we might’ve learned about Albus’s troubles long ago…”

Harry blinks at her, feeling resigned and angered at the same time. “I’m not the one who spends half of their holidays in _France,_ ” Harry grits out, giving Ginny a pointed look. Even though Ginny speaks about them both, it certainly feels she’s somehow blaming him for all of it.

Ginny looks outraged. “I was _not_ in France, and you bloody well know it! And how is me being abroad for work any different than you spending all your time in the Auror office?” Ginny yells, and then narrows her eyes at Harry.

“Did you tell them?” She asks suddenly, her voice lower and even more threatening. “Did you tell our children about our separation?” She seethes.

Harry gives her an incredulous look. “Of course not! I haven’t told anyone!”

Ginny lets out a scoff. “Then how would the girl have known?!” She hisses, her eyes blazing. “How would _anyone_ know that the _Great Saviour_ is in fact single?!” She yells, and as she does so, the door to Moonstone’s office opens, and Malfoy steps in.

Ginny whirls towards the door. “ _What_?!” She nearly snarls, her eyes turning cold as soon as she sees who it is. “What do you want, Malfoy?” She asks tersely.

Malfoy looks unaffected by Ginny’s spiteful tone, and merely gives her a blank look before turning towards Harry. “Quinn said you wanted to speak to me, Potter,” he says simply.

As Harry looks back at Malfoy, he can see there’s something flickering in Malfoy’s gaze. Something close to…curiosity.

Harry clenches his jaw, nods at Malfoy, before giving Ginny a pointed look. “We can continue the discussion regarding our son later, Ginny, if that’s what you wish. However, you know it is for the best,” He says, lifting his brows slightly, moving the conversation back to the inspection.

Ginny scowls at Harry for a moment, and then lets out a weary sigh. “Fine. Do it then,” She says stiffly, looking aloof, and then turns towards the door, not saying anything more, and not turning back to look at Harry.

The door shuts with a click, and Malfoy stares at Harry, a somewhat contemplative look in his eyes. He then clears his throat and lifts his brows inquiringly. “Potter?”

A frown takes place between Harry’s brows. “Take a seat, Malfoy,” Harry says quietly, feeling nervous. If Ginny reacted the way she did, Harry’s not looking forward to see how Malfoy will, as he will be asked the same thing.

Malfoy’s eyes flash with something Harry can’t place. “Is this about my son?” Malfoy asks, as soon as he has sat down opposite to Harry, on the other side of the table.

Harry swallows uncomfortably, trying to not be bothered by the way Malfoy’s sharp eyes track his every movement.

“You wish to use Veritaserum?” Malfoy asks blankly, his jaw hard. Harry lets out a small sigh, but Malfoy continues, a hint of a sneer on his expression. “Tell me, Potter…is it _only_ my son?”

Even though Malfoy’s voice stays calm, there’s a storm of rage in his eyes.

Harry gives Malfoy an incredulous look. “What?” He then shakes his head quickly, realising what Malfoy is on about. “No. It’s not,” He says firmly, and then looks away, rubbing his neck. “You just witnessed me asking Ginny if she will agree to it – to let Quinn question Albus under Veritaserum.”

Malfoy’s eyes move over Harry’s features. “I take it she was not overjoyed?” He asks, his voice now void of the sharpness, his expression less menacing than it was mere moments ago.

Harry is about to speak about his quarrel with Ginny, but then closes his mouth, opting to give Malfoy a nod instead. “I need to go soon. Quinn will question Rose in a moment, and then I have to discuss with Mr Riley’s, Miss Scotts’ and Miss Westen’s parents and ask them the very same thing I’m asking you now,” Harry says wearily, before giving Malfoy an intent look. “Will you give your permission to question your son under Veritaserum?”

Malfoy watches back unblinkingly, and after a moment Harry wants to look away from the intense pair of grey eyes – eyes that have been haunting his dreams during his weakest moments. But he forces himself to hold Malfoy’s gaze, forces himself to focus in present. He has a job to do. A possible murder to solve.

“I will,” Malfoy says after a long silence. He then looks away, a small frown between his brows.

Harry nods, “Then I will inform Quinn that he should proceed with questioning our sons tomorrow,” he says unenthusiastically, and stands up. Malfoy follows his example. “Um. I’ll talk to you later…back in the village,” Harry mutters, feeling quite uneasy, and out of his skin.

Malfoy merely gives him a brisk nod, and grunts a simple, “Potter,” before he leaves the room in a flutter of robes.

Harry takes a moment to rub his temples, and then makes his way back to the classroom they’ve been using for the questionings. Ron and Hermione are both standing with Rose in the Entrance Hall.

“Oh, Harry!” Hermione breathes, shaking her head in bewilderment as she walks up to Harry, leaving Ron and Rose close to the classroom. “What is going on? Rose isn’t – you _know_ Rose, how could anyone – if someone is behind this – if someone has done it on purpose –“

“Hermione, calm down,” Harry says with a hard tone, giving Hermione a squeeze on her shoulder and glancing at Ron and Rose. His friend gives him a strained smile, and an inconspicuous nod. Harry focuses on Hermione again. “I know it doesn’t make any sense right now,” Harry says very quietly, “You know that I wouldn’t suspect any of our children, because _I know them._ But we need more information. We need to show that Rose is innocent, as well as find out if she has seen anything that could help us solve the case,” Harry says promptly. “You know this, Hermione,” he adds softly.

Hermione swallows hard, nodding a couple of times. “Yes…yes, I’m…I know,” she says weakly, before taking in a deep breath, and standing straighter, pulling up the ‘Head of the DMLE’ look on her face. “I hope you do find out what happened. The press is going wild, now that some of the parents have talked,” she says with a tired voice, pinching the bridge of her nose. “It will get worse when the parents start arriving here, trying to pull their kids out of the school,” She continues, before whispering, “And if they find out that _our children are suspects – “_

“They’re not.” Harry says promptly. He gives her a meaningful look, before glancing at Ron and Rose. “Let’s get this over with, yeah?”

* * *

Albus watches as his mother leaves through the front doors in the Entrance Hall, his stomach twisting nervously. He’s going to be questioned under Veritaserum the next day, and even though he has nothing to hide – at least regarding Travers – he can’t stop feeling worried.

Somehow, other people’s descriptions of the train ride, as well as his history with Travers made his own story questionable, and he doesn’t know how, or why. He knows that Rose too will have to face the same thing the next day, as during the train ride she had apparently stopped by Travers’s compartment, and been alone with her. He thinks back to their conversation in the library after classes, after Rose had been questioned.

_“Hi Al,” Rose says quietly as she sits down next to him at the corner table._

_Albus gives his cousin a small smile and puts his quill away. “Hey. Is…is everything all right?” He asks, taking note of the anxious look on her face._

_Rose shakes her head slightly, her eyes glinting. “No. I don’t know,” she whispers, worry evident in her voice. “I saw Jenna, on the train, and I talked to her, and I went into her compartment, and – and now they want to question me under Veritaserum!” She says, urgently, keeping her voice low, even though she seems somewhat…terrified._

_“Wait…what?” Albus asks, frowning at her. “Why would you have spent time with her? Why would you have gone to her compartment?” He asks, his jaw tight, annoyed at his cousin, hoping she hadn’t been there because of Albus. Albus has had enough of other people trying to solve his problems. At the same time, he is quite surprised that Rose is part of the investigation._

_Rose gives him an incredulous look. “Was I not allowed to do so?” She asks with a tense voice._

_Albus huffs, shaking his head. “If you’re pissed off about what James did, you should know I had nothing to do with it,” He says sharply._

_Rose frowns. “But – but why would James…?”_

_Albus sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. Why, indeed…Albus has no idea. He tells her so, and Rose looks a bit regretful, chewing the inside of her cheek._

_“I’m sorry. I thought…I thought it was…to, to get revenge, or something. I thought you were involved with what happened at the party,” She says quietly, and then looks at Albus, sees the bitterness in his gaze, and hastily continues, “I’m not saying what she did was right, but…I thought you two were past that.”_

_Albus suppresses an eyeroll. Past that. Well, yes, he is, but…he thinks that she wasn’t. He briefly wonders, why Jenna left him? Why leave him, if, in the end, she had not been happy with her decision... Perhaps he’ll never know. He gives Rose an agreeing grunt, before remembering the reason his cousin came to him._

_“I’m sure it’ll be all right, Rose.” He says, patting her hand. “The questioning. You have nothing to worry about.”_

_Rose bites her lip, giving a jerky nod, and stares at the table. There’s a short silence, during which Albus has moved his focus back to his schoolwork._

_“Where’s Scorpius?” Rose asks suddenly, glancing around them._

_Albus shrugs. “Dunno.” He says simply, having been wondering the very same thing earlier. He saw his friend in their dorm after Albus had been questioned, and Scorpius had seemed rather absent. Scorpius had then excused himself and left the dorm and the Slytherin common room. Albus had wondered for a moment, whether he ought to go search for his friend, but in the end decided that Scorpius probably wanted privacy, and so Albus had went to the library to do his homework. “Why?” He asks Rose._

_Rose shrugs, moving her gaze away from Albus. “You’re always together.” She says airily._

_Albus gives her a pointed look._

_“Well, okay!” She says once she sees Albus’s stare, lifting her hands up. “I was just wondering how he is doing with his…father around.” She says with a shrug that she tries so hard to make an indifferent one._

_Albus sniggers inwardly. It’s obvious that Rose is quite taken by Scorpius, even if she has always denied it whenever Albus or Lily have asked her about the matter._

_“He’ll be fine,” Albus says, hoping to Merlin he’s right. Scorpius has been acting strangely for some time now, and Albus doesn’t know why, nor does he know how to get through to his best friend._

_Rose smiles tentatively at him._

_“When are you going to admit that you fancy him?” Albus asks, giving her a teasing nudge._

_Blush creeps up to Rose’s ears, and she stammers for a moment, before adamantly telling Albus that he’s wrong, and that he ought to shut his bloody trap._

_Albus sniggers a bit at her expense. His cousin soon leaves, after aiming a sharp punch on his shoulder, when Albus keeps the knowing smirk plastered on his face._

He wonders, if he’d be okay with Rose and Scorpius dating. It doesn’t _feel right_ to Albus, somehow. He thinks the feelings between the two of them are not really mutual. He thinks Scorpius hasn’t looked at Rose like that, and probably will not do so in the future.

Regarding the questioning the next day, Albus thinks Rose will be all right, that it’ll go smoothly. He doesn’t really worry for her, as much as he does for his best friend. Albus can’t stop thinking that something’s not right with Scorpius. Albus – well, Albus thinks Scorpius might know more about Travers’s death than he has let on.

James, however, seems to be off the hook; no one seems to be interested about questioning him further – at least, according to his mother – since he wasn’t actually seen with Travers after the party, even though, Albus thinks bitterly, James was the one who started this whole bloody mess.

Groaning inwardly, Albus runs a hand through his unruly hair and turns to walk towards the Great Hall, knowing that dinner will be soon served, and deciding that there’s no point of going back to the dungeons.

However, as he walks across the Entrance Hall, he can hear his name uttered in a sharp whisper.

“ _What do you want? Did Albus send you?_ ”

Albus stops in his tracks, and glances around him; the hall is empty. The classroom where Albus and the others were questioned by the Aurors in the middle of the hall is now closed, and Albus reckons the voices carry to the hall from one of the rooms around the corner.

What he doesn’t expect, as he creeps a bit closer, is that his brother and his friend are in a middle of an argument.

“ –Potter,” Scorpius says stiffly, “We need to talk.”

Albus frowns ahead, bewildered. Why does Scorpius sound so…anxious? Why does he need to talk to James? Albus listens attentively, feeling like a complete stalker as he leans against the wall around the corner, close to the classroom, the door of which has apparently been left open.

“Why?” Albus’s brother mutters, sounding a bit worried. “Is it – is it about what happened?” James asks mutedly.

Albus’s eyes widen in surprise and interest. _What? What are they talking about?_

“What do you think?” Scorpius asks impatiently, and Albus can picture clearly Scorpius rolling his eyes in exasperation. “I trust you heard about the questioning they’re doing tomorrow?” Scorpius continues tightly. “And if they ask the right questions, you know what they’ll find out.”

“Yeah, okay! I get it,” James hisses harshly. “You don’t have to say it aloud!”

Albus gapes ahead, unable to believe what he’s hearing. James and Scorpius? Do they – do they actually have something to do with Travers’s death?

No, it can’t be! It’s James. And Scorpius! Albus knows them. They couldn’t be responsible for something so horrible, no…

“I will tell Albus.” Scorpius mutters after a short silence.

Albus can hear James scoffing loudly. “No, you fucking won’t,” James growls. “You will not tell a soul, Malfoy, and you will pray that they don’t ask about it tomorrow. And if they do, you’ll – you’ll lie!”

“How the fuck will I lie, when they’ll use bloody _Veritaserum_?” Scorpius asks threateningly, and Albus hears a sharp intake of breath.

There’s a short silence.

“Scor…” James whispers with a weary sigh.

Albus’s brows shoot up high on his forehead. Since when has James called him ‘ _Scor’ ?!_

There’s another silence, longer this time, and Albus wonders what is happening, especially, when James continues, his voice now a bit muffled, “You don’t understand,” James murmurs. “My career…Char…everything will be ruined,” He says, sounding…something between hopeless and emotionless.

Scorpius huffs with irritation, and Albus can hear movement in the room. “So – what? One mistake and your life is over?” he asks darkly.

James scoffs. “Can’t believe you just said that…Well, fuck you, Scorpius.” James grunts, and Albus can hear him walking in the room, towards the door. “I need to go…I need to find – find Charlotte…”

“Whatever,” Scorpius mutters, resign in his voice.

Albus hastily retreats to an empty classroom behind him, and manages to close the door just before James rushes past it towards the Great Hall.

Albus’s mind whirls, as he tries to understand what the hell is going on. He thinks hard about everything he just heard. James…did James do it? The mistake? Is – is James the reason Travers is dead? Dread flickers to the bottom of Albus’s stomach; what if Scorpius and James have something to do with Travers’s death? What if one of them…what if they killed her?

* * *

“Hey Scor,” Albus greets his friend at dinner, as Scorpius sits down next to him at their house table.

Scorpius gives Albus a quick glance. “Hey,” he says absently.

Albus watches carefully, as Scorpius proceeds to fill his plate. “You all right?” Albus asks, taking note of his friend’s every move.

Albus is certain he sees Scorpius’s hand twitch as he grabs the potato ladle.

Scorpius looks back at him, shrugging. “Yeah, I’m fine. Just some stuff with dad…” He mutters, turning his focus on his plate.

Albus arches a brow at him, knowing that there could quite well be ‘some stuff with his dad’, as there always seems to be, but this time he _knows_ it’s about Albus’s brother. But before he can question his friend further, Julian, Cory, Cecil and Zachary sit down on the other side of the table, all red-faced and windswept, evidently due to a fun afternoon spent outside.

Albus feels irritated as his day has gone by in different kinds of interrogations held by his father, mother and the Aurors, and running to his classes, while his friends have had their free periods and enjoyed what sounds like a victorious snowball fight against the fifth year Ravenclaws.

Julian chuckles, “I mean, you should’ve seen him! Zach hit Thomas straight in the nose!”

Zachary gives his friends an indifferent shrug. “I could hardly miss it,” he says airily, his eyes glinting slyly, “…not with Thomas holding it so preciously up…”

Cory snorts, shaking his head, while both Scorpius and Albus snigger, all of them knowing that their friend’s description of their classmate is quite accurate.

Their conversation quickly moves to Quidditch, and to the final matches of the season between the Hogwarts houses. An hour later, their group has finally emptied their plates and returned to their common room to take care of their homework. It is not until later that night, when Albus has retired to his bed, that he remembers the argument between Scorpius and his brother. Albus decides to find out what is going on, and decides to confront Scorpius the next day.

* * *

“It is a nightmare,” McGonagall says, staring out of the windows in her circular office. The sun has gone down and the grounds are dark.

“The school governors have been owling me every hour, as well as the Minister; apparently many of the students’ parents have taken residence in the village, demanding that the school ought to be closed, and the children sent to their homes,” McGonagall says, her tone weary.

Harry lets out an irritated grunt. “Yes, the Minister has sent his regards to me as well, urging us to solve this case…” Harry says, sounding as tired as the Headmistress.

McGonagall gives Harry a small smile. “I have faith in you, Harry. I know you are doing everything you can. I merely wish we could already put this behind us.”

Harry nods slowly. “We will continue tomorrow, by questioning Miss Hazel Scott, Miss Westen, James, Albus, Rose and Scorpius under Veritaserum,” he says, chewing the inside of his cheek. “Unfortunately, we cannot let any of the students go yet, since they are all witnesses – as well as possible suspects – in a murder investigation.”

McGonagall looks at Harry with a steady look. “Yes, I understand. Do you really think one of them did it?”

Harry is quiet for a moment, trying to think if any of the students could’ve done it. Of course, it is possible. It _has_ happened before. He hopes it isn’t the case this time. “I hope not.” He says quietly.

There’s a short silence, before Harry speaks, “Aurors Peele, Prone, Higgins, Bletchley, Walter, Parkinson, Bones and Smith will be stationed in the school during the night, patrolling the common rooms and corridors.”

“It would be appreciated.”

Harry gives a nod to the Headmistress. “If there is nothing else, I will head up to the Gryffindor Tower to inform James that he too will be questioned under Veritaserum tomorrow,” Harry says wearily.

They weren’t going to, originally, but then Rose had been questioned and she hadn’t been sure if it had been thirty minutes she had spent with James on the train, or less. And Harry knows, that if there hadn’t been an incident between James and Travers at the party during New Year’s Eve, he wouldn’t have been questioned at all.

McGonagall smiles sympathetically at Harry. “Good night, Harry.”

* * *

“…You’re saying the post-mortem-scan did not reveal any other magical signatures but Miss Travers’s?”

Draco can hear his boss’s question, but his focus is on Potter, who right then walks into the pub, only to be confronted by a group of anxious Weasleys.

Potter tries to explain the group calmly, that he cannot allow anyone to the castle, and yes, their children are safe there, with eight of his Aurors patrolling the common rooms and corridors. Draco thinks Potter looks a bit helpless, as his wife’s mother starts to pester him with questions, and soon Draco sees him glancing around the room, trying to find someone to help him reign in the apprehensive group of gingers and their spouses.

“…Draco?” Granger – _or well_ , _Granger-Weasley,_ Draco thinks – asks, staring at him with a questioning look from the seat next to him. “Did you hear what I –” She turns to look at the direction Draco had been looking, and growls under her breath. “For Merlin’s sake!” She grits out and stands up to march towards the group of Weasleys, ordering them to leave Potter alone, reminding them that the longer they prevent him from doing his job, the longer they have to wait to see their children. Granger then asks Potter to go ahead to the meeting room to go over the situation, while she will talk with her husband’s relatives.

As soon as Berrycloth, Fungbury, Keir, Quinn and Draco sit down around the table, Potter starts to speak.

“Let’s go over what we have learnt today, shall we?” Potter says, looking around the room. “Today we questioned Scorpius Malfoy, Pamela Scott, Hazel Scott, Albus Potter, Skylar Westen, Nate Riley, James Potter, and Rose Granger-Weasley. After many inconsistencies in the descriptions of events they gave us, I decided it was needed to question all of them under Veritaserum,” Potter explains, while both Keir and Quinn take notes. “Nate Riley and Pamela Scott were questioned again later today, under Veritaserum, and the rest will be questioned tomorrow.”

Potter looks at his notes and clears his throat. “Nate Riley spent part of the journey with Travers, and the other part of it with his friends. He saw Travers having an argument with Albus and Scorpius in the corridor, participated in it in order to end it, and afterwards had an argument with Travers in a compartment. Both incidents were left unmentioned by him in the first questioning last night,” Potter says, looking around the room. “Riley explained today under Veritaserum that he had been jealous that his late girlfriend had still had feelings for Albus, and had been embarrassed about his argument with Travers, and thus had not wanted to mention the events. He told us under Veritaserum, that the last time he saw Travers, was in her compartment, where he didn’t see any books. Riley had left after Travers had intended to change into her robes and had asked for privacy. Riley had returned to stay with his friends for the rest of the trip. It was approximately one hour before the train reached Hogsmeade.”

Potter glances at the Aurors, before he continues, “Pamela Scott stayed in a compartment with her sister and Skylar Westen for the most of the trip. Jenna Travers stayed in their compartment for some hours in the beginning of the train ride. Pamela Scott, her sister and Westen heard part of the argument between Scorpius and Travers, and then between Albus, Scorpius and Travers,” Potter says, with tightness in his voice. “Scott’s description of the events changed between the questionings, and her final word, under Veritaserum, was that she had heard Scorpius asking Travers not to say anything to anyone, but she hadn’t heard what exactly. She confirmed that she had in fact seen Albus coming there as well, and having an argument with Travers. Scott explained that she had heard Travers threatening Albus about revealing his secrets to everyone, and because of that, she had later asked her sister and Westen to not mention the occurrence to the Aurors. She explained that while she was sure that Albus couldn’t have had anything to do with what had happened to Travers, she thought Albus would have been suspected for her death, after having the argument with her.”

Draco’s jaw clenches, as he thinks how the witch had made his son a suspect simply by lying to the Aurors.

Keir shakes his head slightly, still taking notes, and Potter then proceeds to go over Hazel Scott’s and Skylar Westen’s questionings; as both Westen and Hazel Scott had left unmentioned the incidence in the train corridor between Albus, Scorpius and Travers, they too will be questioned under Veritaserum the next day.

Potter then asks Keir to order them something to eat and drink, and there’s a short break. When Keir returns, Potter nods at Quinn, who then starts to go over the questionings he had held with Draco’s son and Potter’s sons and niece.

Draco listens carefully as the blonde Auror goes through his son’s questioning.

“Scorpius spent the train ride mostly with his dormmates; Julian Flint, Cecil Parkinson and Albus Potter. After changing into his robes, one to two hours before arriving to Hogsmeade, he met Travers in the corridor, where she unexpectedly started to threaten him. Scorpius thought that she had still been upset about what had happened at the party, after James and his friends had mocked her.” Quinn says, and then switches a parchment, and scribbles something onto it with his quill.

“Scorpius told us that Travers had been threatening him without reason and had claimed she was going to tell their classmates that Scorpius and Albus were romantically involved,” Quinn says, his cheeks tinging slightly with red, and Draco wants to roll his eyes at the prude Auror.

Quinn clears his throat and keeps his gaze on the parchment. “However, Scorpius insisted it is a lie, and said that he thinks Travers had brought it up merely as an excuse to talk rubbish behind Albus’s back. After the argument, Scorpius spent the rest of the trip alone in a compartment.”

“Why is he being questioned again tomorrow, under Veritaserum?” Draco asks, watching Potter and Quinn with an expressionless look, while knowing exactly why. He _had_ been at his son’s questioning, and he himself had thought that Scorpius had left some things unsaid.

Potter levels him with a serious look. “Because I think there’s more to the story.” Potter says, not moving his eyes from Draco. “He didn’t really give Quinn a reason for Travers’s threats, and I have a feeling that he knows exactly why she threatened him.” Potter says, and Draco thinks the saviour’s gaze tells him enough: they want to know if Scorpius had done something to prevent Travers from fulfilling her threats.

Draco inclines his head slightly, knowing Potter is right, knowing that he himself wants to know the truth, but is nevertheless irritated by the bright, righteous expression on the bespectacled saviour’s face.

The food and drinks appear onto the side table, and Potter gestures everyone to take a snack, before Quinn continues.

“James told us about a party that took place in his home, to where Travers was invited by him,” Quinn says, glancing at his notes.

Draco arches a brow at Potter, only then remembering the fact, and deciding to exchange a couple of carefully selected words with the Auror later. Potter notices Draco looking at him, and there’s a mixture of guilt and exasperation in his expression, before he turns his focus back to Quinn.

“Travers had a dispute in the party with James and his friends. She left soon after her arrival. James did not see Travers at all during the train ride, but spent it with his friends and girlfriend, leaving them only for thirty minutes, during which he met with Rose and Hugo Granger-Weasley, approximately one to two hours before the train arrived to Hogsmeade. Rose Granger-Weasley’s questioning confirms that James did indeed see her and her brother during the train ride, but she couldn’t say if it took exactly thirty minutes.”

Potter clears his throat. “And due to that, I decided that we should question James under Veritaserum as well.”

Draco watches Potter carefully, taking note how concerned the other man looks.

Quinn nods. “And as James is of age, you will need to have his agreement again to be present during his questioning.”

Potter frowns at the table, before giving Quinn a tense smile. “Yeah.”

Quinn shuffles his parchments. “Albus spent the train ride with his dormmates Scorpius, Julian and Cecil, and told us in the questioning that there had been approximately a thirty-minute period during which he hadn’t seen anyone but Scorpius, Jenna Travers and Nate Riley, less than two hours before arriving to Hogsmeade. Albus had gone to change into his school robes, and as he had returned to the compartment, it had been empty. He had then proceeded to go and find Scorpius – whom he did find, in the middle of an argument with Travers.”

Quinn glances around the table before resuming back to his notes. “He had asked Travers to leave them alone, but the girl had warned Albus to stay out of it, threatening to expose Albus’s secrets to the other students,” Quinn says, his face slightly red.

Draco’s brows twitch slightly, as he wonders, with irritation, what the hell the blonde man is blushing about now, and how the hell would a _Hufflepuff_ have this much dirt on others?

“As Albus had dated the girl previously, he presumed she knew some of his ‘secrets’. However, he told us he hadn’t been worried about the threat.”

Quinn looks at Potter. “Even though Albus didn’t seem to be distressed at any point of the questioning, and explained the events rather openly, there is still the fact that Albus and the victim have history together, and he admitted that they were in bad terms some months prior to Travers’s death. Thus, he will be questioned under Veritaserum.”

Draco watches Potter, seeing how wrecked he looks. He knows there’s a lot of pressure upon the Head Auror, as the Minister and the school governors are all watching his every move, expecting him to solve the case in a record time. In addition to that, both his sons are being questioned, and regarded more of less as suspects in this investigation. His irritation towards the messy-haired wizard diminishes somewhat, as he sees the flicker of overcome behind his eyes, as Quinn continues to go over Rose Granger-Weasley’s questioning.

The fifth-year Ravenclaw had stayed in a compartment with her cousins for most of the train ride. She had met Travers at the luggage department, after which, she had lent her book to her.

“Why would she have the book?” Draco asks, suddenly. “It was a sixth-year charms book.”

Potter gives him a somewhat pitiful look. “She reads ahead.” He says simply.

Draco wants to roll his eyes, but settles for an unimpressed raised eyebrow. Of course, he thinks. _Granger’s kid._

Quinn nods at Draco and Potter, before continuing, “Miss Granger-Weasley said that Travers’s book had been destroyed by her cousin’s joke products, and thus she had felt bad for the girl, having heard what had happened during the New Year’s party. She had lent her book to the other girl, knowing she didn’t really need it for school, and would have it back once Travers had ordered a new copy. Granger-Weasley went to pick up the book from her own trunk, and brought it to Travers’s compartment, approximately one hour before the train arrived Hogsmeade. Granger-Weasley had then seen James giving her brother Hugo Granger-Weasley joke products like the ones previously mentioned, and had confiscated them before returning to her own compartment.”

Quinn puts his notes down. “Rose will be questioned again tomorrow under Veritaserum, as she is quite possibly the last one to see Travers alive.”

Draco then explains the results of the post-mortem-scan that had been performed to Travers’s body. He tells the others, that no other magical signatures had been detected, except her own. The scan confirmed the cause of death; blow to the head, resulting a massive blood loss and a traumatic brain injury. The scan hadn’t really revealed information they hadn’t been already aware of; the morgue confirmed that the sedative levels were high, and based on the laboratory examination of a sample of Travers’s blood, the sedative was most likely Calming Draught.

The discussion moves on, and the Aurors form a plan for the next day. Potter informs that in addition to the Veritaserum interrogations they will be performing during the morning, they will question a handful of students who have come forth to their Heads of Houses, even though it seems that all of those students had seen Travers during the first hours of the train ride.

Potter also tells the group that he had questioned both Mr and Mrs Travers before arriving to the village, trying to find out if either the parents or their daughter had any enemies. Potter had explained to Mr and Mrs Travers that as they were an old Death Eater family – and Draco almost flinches at that – the possibility that someone had wanted to harm them in the most cruellest way couldn’t be dismissed.

Unsurprisingly, the parents had been shocked, and had not considered that as a possibility – that their name could have been the reason to what had happened to their daughter. Potter had also asked them if their daughter had had access to any sedative potions, as there had been a high dose found in her bloodstream. Mr and Mrs Travers had been adamant as they had told Potter that their daughter wouldn’t have had access to those potions in her home.

Potter puts both Berrycloth and Fungbury to night watch, to patrol the streets as there are several concerned parents staying in the village along with the regular population, making the air around them somewhat tense.

Granger pops in right as Quinn and Keir retreat to their rooms, and Potter starts to give Granger a summary of how the investigation is proceeding. Draco packs up his notes, ready to leave the meeting room, but is stopped by Potter.

“Malfoy,” Potter says, cutting off his explanation to Granger.

Draco lifts his brows at the Auror. “Yes?”

“Would you mind waiting for a bit?” Potter asks, a somewhat imploring look in his eyes.

Draco’s eyes flicker to Granger, who looks mildly surprised and moves her gaze away from the two men. He looks back at Potter and nods, thinking the Auror has most likely figured out that Draco is still peeved about the New Year’s and wants to apologise for it.

Potter finishes the update of the situation, at times murmuring to Granger quiet enough so that Draco doesn’t actually hear what they say.

Granger leaves the meeting room sometime later, bidding good night and informing Potter that the Weasley clan has left to their homes.

Potter heads to the side table after the door has clicked shut, picking up a bottle of Butterbeer.

Draco watches as Potter sits heavily across him, fiddling the bottle while staring at the table.

“I’m sorry,” Potter finally says, moving his gaze to Draco, who feels a small twitch in the back of his neck for being under the intense stare of the pair of bright green eyes.

“I should’ve checked on them…there probably wouldn’t have been a party,” Potter continues, and then sighs wearily, “And our sons probably wouldn’t be questioned now.”

Draco wants to give Potter a couple of carefully selected sharp words, as he completely agrees; even if the kids are old enough to be alone at home, he too thinks this all stemmed from the party – from the dispute between James Potter and Jenna Travers, and perhaps something else as well. But looking at the man now, and seeing how exhausted he looks, Draco takes pity on him, and decides to incline his head in agreement.

Potter gives Draco a wan smile. “What? No scornful words?”

“Would you like me to give you a few?” Draco drawls with a pointed look.

Potter lets out a short laugh, shaking his head slightly, and looks at his bottle again.

After a short silence Potter speaks. “You think it’s true? …That bit about our sons…you know. Dating?”

Draco watches Potter for a moment, thinking back at Scorpius’s questioning, and the way his son spoke about the incident between him and Travers. “No,” he says, his eyes fixed at Potter’s fingers that are wrapped around the bottle.

Draco knows there’s something else, however. He knows his son – there’s something Scorpius has left unsaid. And that something, Draco thinks with a mild concern, will be revealed the next day.

His eyes track Potter’s movements, as the Auror rubs the bridge of his nose, his glasses going askew. He watches, transfixed, at the other man, taking note how he has changed; how his hair is longer, how his appearance is somehow more…untidier – but at the same time even more distracting than before. Draco is trying hard to force away the memories that surge to the forefront of his mind, trying to forget the blazing look in the emerald eyes.

Potter lets out a dry laugh then. “It would’ve been better if they did…” He says, and as he looks at Draco, and sees his confused expression, he continues with a weary sigh, “Today, I learned that…that some girls in the school, they…” Potter trails off, looking flustered, embarrassed.

Draco lifts his brows in question, leaning back in his chair.

“…They aim to – to sleep with my son, because –” Potter says, his eyes wide with incredulity, his voice rough, “– because he looks like me.”

Draco eyes Potter’s reddened face, those innocent wide eyes, and the disbelief in them. Still, after all these years, after being the _saviour,_ after being in the headlines for _years._ Still the man in front of him regards what he has just said as shocking news. He wonders, how Potter can be so…so bloody naïve? How has he managed to close his eyes and not understand his own popularity?

Potter takes off his glasses and buries his face in his hands, rubbing it anxiously. “And if that’s not horrible enough, I’m fairly certain my children know that their parents are going to divorce soon,” he says with a quiet voice, the heels of his palms pressing against his eyes, while his elbows are propped against the table.

Draco contemplates Potter’s words. Finally, he has the confirmation to what he has been wondering, after hearing Weasley’s outburst about Potter being single, as well as Potter’s earlier confession about him and Weasley having problems.

“Should they not be aware of it?” Draco asks simply.

Potter lowers his hands back to the table, a small grimace on his lips. “Yeah, they should. We were supposed to tell them, during the holidays,” He says, pushing his glasses back to rest against his nose, his fingers and eyes back at the bottle again. “Work came before that, I suppose.”

Potter is quiet for a moment, chewing the corner of his lips, before he speaks again. “I don’t even know why I’m telling you all of this…” He says, his voice hesitant, as is his expression, when he looks up and gives Draco a long, somewhat intense look.

Draco swallows hard, and sees Potter’s eyes following the movement on Draco’s throat. _Bloody hell,_ he thinks, as Potter’s eyes stop at Draco’s lips before he looks up into his eyes again.

There’s a tense silence.

“Is it because what happened?” Draco asks, finally putting in words the thought that has been swirling in his mind since that morning. If what happened between him and Potter is in fact the reason Potter is divorcing his wife.

Potter looks at the table, his jaw tightening slightly. “Yes and no,” He finally says with a weary voice. “She knows what happened,” he says, looking at Draco, who had already figured out that bit, “But there were other…issues,” He says with a small grimace. “I suppose the…thing…at the pub was just the last straw – something we’d been, well, _hoping_ to happen, as neither of us had had the courage to admit it before. That we’re not the same anymore. That we’re not happy together.”

Draco doesn’t even know how to take Potter’s explanation. Sure, Weasley knowing is not something Draco had been wishing, since, well, probably her whole family knows by now, and as it is the Weasley family, Draco does not have high hopes for discretion. But…Potter doesn’t seem to – to regret it, does he?

“We should head upstairs,” Potter mutters then, looking away. “I need to be at the school before breakfast to talk to the Headmistress…”

Draco doesn’t really listen, and instead flicks his wand to gather his stuff, and then stands up knowing that if he doesn’t leave now, he might say something he could regret later.

Potter follows him upstairs as they go towards their rooms, but before they reach the first landing, Potter takes Draco’s hand, stopping them both in the middle of dimly lit stairs.

“…Draco.” Potter whispers, and _fuck,_ Draco thinks, how good his name sounds coming from between Potter’s lips, and he remembers vividly the last time Potter had called him by his first name – when Potter’s dick had been buried deep in Draco’s throat in the dirty toilet of Leaky Cauldron, right before Potter had exploded in bliss.

Potter takes one step up the stairs, and he’s standing so close to Draco now that their bodies are nearly touching. Draco feels the anticipation fluttering down his spine, as well as the urgent overwhelming need flooding into his groin, as he gazes into Potter’s darkened eyes.

“Do you want to –”

“Yes.” Draco grunts, and with a curt nod, Potter walks up the rest of the stairs, dragging Draco with him by his hand.

As soon as Draco steps into the darkened room – Potter’s room – and the moment the door closes, Potter slams him against it, pinning him to the hard wood with a tight grip on Draco’s waist.

“This what you wanted?” Potter murmurs, bucking his hips against Draco’s.

Lust and want overpower the sharp wave of annoyance for being manhandled.

“Yes,” he grits through his teeth, feeling lightheaded, feeling aroused as fuck.

Potter leans closer, dipping his head onto Draco’s neck and presses his lips against the skin, very softly, all the while thrusting his hips lightly against Draco’s.

Draco suppresses a whine, and instead grabs Potter by his shoulders, digging his fingers into the tense muscles.

Potter groans, breathing heavily against Draco’s neck, and then makes a quick work of opening Draco’s trousers, before shoving his hand inside them. The next moment, Potter proceeds to squeeze his half-hard cock to achingly hard while leaning his forehead against Draco’s shoulder.

Draco nearly dies, gasping for breath, as Potter starts to jerk him off in swift motions. Potter brings his mouth against Draco’s, kissing him urgently, sucking and licking his lips, biting them.

“ _Circe_!” Draco breathes, as Potter pulls back for a moment, only to tilt his head to the other side, before surging back to conquer Draco with his lips and tongue, his hand sliding around Draco’s shaft in a relentless pace.

“…Just Harry’s fine,” Potter mumbles against Draco’s lips, pushing his tongue inside Draco’s mouth, as soon as Draco opens it to argue him.

Waves of pleasure float over him, overwhelming him, and Draco must’ve lost some time, as he suddenly realises that his hands are twined in Potter’s disorderly locks, tugging them lightly, guiding Potter’s lips to fit against his.

Their gasps fill the quiet and dark room, and Draco feels euphoric, as Potter returns to suck the skin below his jaw, all the while bringing Draco closer and closer to the most intense ecstasy. Too long has Draco thought of it, reminisced it – the night at the pub, and Potter’s touch and taste. And now that he has it, now that the emptiness has been filled, and Potter is there with all his attention on Draco, allowing him to finally _feel_ , there’s…something nagging in the back of his mind.

Draco knows exactly what it is. It is many things. The fact that Potter is still _married._ That they are working together to solve a possible murder. And that – that after the pub, Potter disappeared. He didn’t floo Draco. He didn’t owl him. He just went back to his wife. Back to his family.

Draco’s pride tries to remind him that he still ought to feel bitter about what happened, and not let Potter use him whenever he wants to.

“ – What are we doing?” Draco asks, his voice hoarse, panting, gritting his teeth against the waves of sharp pleasure as Potter’s hand against his cock jolts slightly.

Potter stills, pulling his head back slightly to meet Draco’s eyes. His glasses are askew, his pupils blown wide, and his mouth…well, Draco will steer his eyes away from Potter’s delectable mouth, at least for the time being.

“What?” Potter breathes, a frown taking place between his brows, his eyes clearing. Then, as it did in Draco’s mind, it happens also in Potter’s. His eyes widen slightly as he realises what exactly is transpiring between them, and how it all ends if they allow it to happen. “Oh.”

He looks down, where his hand is still deep inside Draco’s trousers, holding Draco’s cock in a gentle grip. “Shit.”

Draco suppresses a much needed eyeroll. He lets out a slightly wavering breath, slips his hands off from Potter’s hair, lowering them, and takes a hold of Potter’s wrist, before pulling Potter’s hand out of his trousers, irritated at himself because of the feel of loss. They disentangle, and look away from each other.

Potter clears his throat, looking quite embarrassed, as he stares hard at the plush, green rug. His mouth moves twice, but no words are coming out.

“I should go,” Draco mutters, saving them both from the uncomfortable silence. He glances at Potter, sees the somewhat desperate look in his eyes. Draco’s not sure how to interpret it, but he has a vague idea what Potter is on about. “…It is best not to mention this to anyone,” he adds, before murmuring a quiet, ‘excuse me,’ and slipping out of the room quickly and silently.

As soon as he’s in the confines of his own room, Draco takes in a long, steadying breath, and presses his hands against his eyes. What in the name of Salazar was he thinking? In which scenario snogging Potter like his life depended on it, and letting Potter wank him into the brink of an orgasm is a good idea? Suppressing a groan of frustration, Draco quickly disrobes himself, and slips into the lumpy bed, making sure his wand is ready to wake him up early in the morning, and willing his somewhat painful erection to go away. He needs to get a grip. His son’s questioning is the next morning. And Potter is still… _Potter._

For a moment, he tries to remember that night, at the pub. He tries to remember how it ended, tries to remember what had happened after the bathroom, after he had sucked Potter off, and after Potter had – but he can’t. All he can recall, is the feeling of emptiness the next morning, when he woke up from his bed at the Manor.


	7. Then there are some minor points that strike me as suggestive

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaand more questionings + drama, you're welcome ;)

**Chapter 7: Then there are some minor points that strike me as suggestive**

**Hogwarts, 11 January 2022**

“What do you mean? Why couldn’t we take our girls home before the inspection is done?” Mrs Scott asks sharply, or, jumps at Harry in the hallway, as soon as the Head Auror steps outside from the classroom. Mr and Mrs Westen too step closer to him, both looking bewildered.

It is later in the morning, but the breakfast is still being served, and Harry watches as Miss Scott and Miss Westen leave the Entrance Hall together, moving towards the Great Hall, both fidgeting slightly – a somewhat mild aftereffect of Veritaserum, before he turns to the irritated and concerned parents.

“I understand your worry,” he says, and as one of them looks like they have a couple of things to point out to him, he quickly continues, “I really do – you must know my three children are here as well –” Which seems to make the effect Harry was hoping for, “but, we strongly believe this to be an individual incident, and in order to close this case, we need all witnesses present, and available,” He says with a calming, but authoritative voice. “The Minister has approved this arrangement, and in return, we will do everything in our powers to solve this incident, and have your children’s lives back to normal again.”

Mrs Scott sighs disappointedly, Mr Westen shakes his head in dissatisfaction, but Mrs Westen, at least, gives Harry an understanding nod. “Of course, Auror Potter,” she says, glancing at her fellow parents. “We just have to trust that our children are safe, under the protection of the Auror Office, as well as the school teachers,” she says pointedly, aiming her words at her husband and Mrs Scott – who both seem to calm down a bit.

As the parents leave the Entrance Hall, Harry lets out a long breath, and walks to the front doors, stepping outside. He breathes in the cold air, hoping it will clear his head. His mind is working furiously, putting together what he knows and what he has observed, moving the pieces to their correct spots in the timeline.

What had happened to Travers?

He mulls over the two questionings from the past hour and a half, and neither Westen nor Hazel Scott saw Travers after the row between his son, Scorpius, Riley and Travers. Both were naturally asked, had they any knowledge of Travers’s death, had they themselves been part of it, or if they knew anyone, who was. Questions, which Harry knew would shock the parents, as they did Riley’s parents, and Mr and Mrs Scott the previous day.

Neither the Scott sisters nor Westen had anything to do with what happened to Travers. But, as all three girls were close to the victim, Harry thinks there could be something else, some small detail they didn’t know to ask, and the girls didn’t know to tell. Miss Westen hadn’t mentioned the row in the train corridor during her first questioning. During her second, she had told Harry that she hadn’t thought it was important, and thus had left the occurrence unmentioned. Today, Westen told him that she _did_ know it had been important, but, as her friend’s sister – Pamela Scott – had asked both her sister and Westen not to say anything about it, claiming Albus would’ve been in trouble, Westen had promised to not say anything about it.

And naturally, Harry wonders, if either the younger Miss Scott or Miss Westen and Albus are, or have been close – why else would they have lied in order to ‘protect’ Albus? He wonders if the witches are those kinds of girls his sons had described; chasing his son because he looks like Harry, which, truthfully, makes Harry’s skin crawl.

“Sir?” Quinn murmurs from the doorway.

Harry jumps slightly – he hadn't heard Quinn approaching him. He clears his throat and nods at Quinn. “Is James ready?”

“Yes. Mrs Potter is there as well,” He says calmly. “We’re ready when you are.”

Harry nods again. “Let’s get this over with,” he grunts, and steps inside, feeling nervous and concerned.

Before Harry had left the village early in the morning to meet the Headmistress, he had talked with Quinn, and asked if he was going to question James about the party – as he, like Quinn, was aware that there had been alcohol and underage kids involved in the party, and not an adult supervising the get-together; something that could be quite uncomfortable to Harry, should it come to public knowledge – but Quinn had told Harry that he didn’t think it was important to ask about it, as they were more interested to know where James had been during the train ride, if he had seen Travers during it, and, if he had anything to do with her death, or, if he knew anyone who had.

On his way to the school, Harry had met James at the Quidditch pitch, where the boy had been flying laps, looking somewhat unfocused. As Harry had asked if everything was okay, James had merely waved him off, muttering something about school stuff. He had asked James, if he wanted to talk about the questioning that would happen later in the morning, remembering how shocked James had been the previous night after Harry had informed him of the matter, as well as asked if he and Ginny could attend the questioning. When James had stayed silent, Harry had continued to reassure his son, explaining once more that it was only to clear his name off the table, as he had been witnessed having a dispute with Travers during the holidays, and because he had left his compartment for thirty minutes towards the end of the train ride, and unfortunately, Rose could not say if she had been in his company exactly that time.

He empties his mind and walks inside the classroom behind Quinn and gives his son a reassuring smile, before taking a seat next to him. “You’re doing all right, son,” He murmurs, squeezing James’s shoulder. James’s jaw is tight, and he doesn’t look at Harry, but gives back a small, jerky nod.

Harry exchanges a look with Ginny, and briefly thinks that he hasn’t seen her as fragile and concerned after – after the war, and for a small moment he wants to pull her into a warm embrace, to give her strength and comfort. But the moment passes, and instead, Harry focuses on Quinn, who starts to speak.

Quinn explains the process to James, Harry and Ginny, as well as Professor Fox. He asks Smith to administer the correct dose of Veritaserum into a small vial, and then asks James to come forth to drink it. He does, and Harry tries to swallow past the thick lump in his throat as he sees his son’s appearance change, from rigid and tense to sluggish and relaxed.

James returns to his seat, and lazily looks at Quinn, who smiles at him.

“Hello, James,” Quinn says kindly.

James smirks at the Auror. “Laurean Quinn,” he says easily.

Quinn nods. “Could you state your whole name and birthday for me, James?”

“James Sirius Potter, April 2nd, 2004,” He says immediately.

“Good,” Quinn says, and then glances at his papers. “Do you know why we are here?”

James inclines his head, “To figure out what happened to Travers.”

Quinn watches him carefully. “Were you acquainted with Miss Travers?”

“Not really. She dated my brother a while back, and dumped him in front of everyone after getting what she wanted,” James says indifferently.

Harry can hear Ginny letting out a sharp breath.

“Did you see her during the train ride back to Hogwarts?” Quinn asks then, and James shakes his head.

“No, I didn’t.”

Quinn nods, “Tell me about your train ride…”

And it goes on, almost the same as the day before; James spent the train ride with his girlfriend and his friends, and left them only to change into his robes for a thirty minutes time, around five in the afternoon, during which he met first with Hugo, and then with Rose. He had given some joke products to Hugo, which Rose had then confiscated from her brother. James had gone back to his compartment after that.

James answers ‘no’ in a calm voice, when Quinn asks if the boy had anything to do with Travers’s death, or if he does know someone, who did.

He doesn’t know anything about the incident, and he hasn’t really seen anything that could help with the inspection.

The questioning finally ends, and James seems a bit bleary and confused, still evidently under the potion. They wait until they are sure he can leave the room, to retreat into his dormitory for a bit and skip his morning classes with his Head of House’s permission.

“Are you all right James?” Ginny asks quietly, as they step outside the room.

James grunts, leaning away from his mother, who tries to soothe his hair back. “’m fine, mum. Just want to rest for a b–” his voice trails off, as his gaze locks to somewhere behind Harry’s shoulder.

Harry follows James’s gaze, and sees Malfoy and Scorpius, standing against the wall near them, both looking tensely at the floor.

James leaves after hugging Ginny, and after murmuring a quiet ‘later’ to Harry. Ginny looks stonily at the Malfoys, before giving Harry a sharp look.

“I’ll be back at one for Albus’s questioning,” she informs Harry, before turning in her heels and marching towards the Grand staircase, presumably to see if Lily or her nieces or nephews have a free period.

They are questioning Scorpius still before lunch, then Rose during lunch, and Albus after it. After Albus, there’s a handful of students to be heard, whom have informed that they had seen Travers during the train ride. Harry sighs inwardly, knowing it will be another long day.

He turns to look at the Malfoys. “Scorpius?” Harry says steadily. “We’re ready for you.”

Scorpius nods, walking into the room without even glancing at his father or Harry. Malfoy follows him and looks at Harry for a split second, right as he walks past him.

Harry tries to give him a reassuring smile, but Malfoy’s expressionless face doesn’t falter, and then he too has disappeared into the room.

Before Harry had left the pub in the morning, he had gone to knock on Malfoy’s door. The blonde had looked quite bleary eyed, even though he had obviously been awake long enough to change into his day robes and smooth down his hair. Harry had apologised for what had happened the previous night, told him that it will not happen again, promising to keep himself in check. Malfoy had merely nodded and stared at him blankly, and Harry had bristled inwardly at his indifferent response. Harry had then asked, again, if he could be present during Scorpius’s questioning, which Quinn would be performing once more. Malfoy had agreed and then excused himself, closing the door to Harry’s face.

Not that he had been expecting anything else. What happened the previous night, had been a mistake – something Harry should not have let happen, regardless of how much he had wanted it to.

He can only hope it will not affect the inspection in any way. He thinks Malfoy is controlling himself quite well nowadays, but Harry still fears that what happened between them, destroyed the little improvement that Harry thinks has happened to their professional relationship during the past two days.

Harry walks into the room, moves to sit in the back with Slughorn and watches as Quinn gives the same explanation to Malfoy and Scorpius, as he did to Harry, Ginny and James only forty-five minutes ago. Scorpius moves closer to Quinn and Smith to take the potion, and the effect is instant; his shoulders sag, and he somewhat slumps back into his chair – a posture Harry has never seen Scorpius take, even as he has spent time with Harry’s son at his home. Regardless of how carefree Scorpius is compared to his father, his posture and gracefulness have always screamed of a Malfoy.

After asking Scorpius to confirm his whole name and birthday, Quinn continues, “Tell me about the train ride. You arrived to King’s Cross with the Potters, yes?”

Scorpius nods, “Yes, I spent my holiday with them. Mr Potter took us to the train, and then, Albus and I went to sit with our friends, Julian and Cecil, in their compartment.”

“Did you leave your compartment at any point?”

“Yes, I did. To change into my robes, as did my friends,” Scorpius says immediately.

Quinn nods. “What happened after you had changed into your robes?”

Scorpius grimaces slightly. “I – I sought Travers.”

Harry’s brows lift up at the words, and he doesn’t miss the sudden stiffness on Malfoy’s back.

“Why?” Quinn continues calmly.

“So I could ask her not to speak of what she saw at the party.”

Quinn’s eyes flicker back to his notes. “The party at the Potter house? What did she see?”

Harry sees the narrow-eyed look Malfoy gives to Quinn.

Scorpius evidently tries to fight against the potion, but in vain, as the answer bursts from his lips a moment after, “She saw Potter and me, upstairs.”

Harry sees how there’s a flicker of shock on Malfoy’s otherwise expressionless look, as then the man glances at his son. Harry too feels…apprehensive.

“She saw you?” Quinn asks, his voice tight, his expression quite uncomfortable, presumably having a good idea of what Travers saw.

“Kissing. Touching each other. Intimately.”

_Bloody hell,_ Harry thinks, not really wanting to picture the details of the occurrence. Scorpius and Albus, they were – _they_ _were_ together, weren’t they? So, something _had_ happened between them, even though he and Malfoy both had thought it improbable.

Quinn clears his throat. “And why did you think Travers would have told someone about it?”

Scorpius’s neck is flaming red, but his voice is still calm and collected. “I didn’t know she would, but I wanted to make sure that she didn’t.”

“When you talked to her in the corridor, you mean?”

“Yes. And she almost agreed, but – but then Albus walked up to us, telling her to bugger off, to stop harassing me, and…and Travers proceeded to decline my request, and threatened both Albus and me.”

Harry feels anxious, briefly wondering if Scorpius and Albus had wanted to keep their relationship in secret so vehemently that they had…acted upon it?

“Did you see Travers after the occurrence in the corridor between you, Albus, Travers and Riley?” Quinn asks, taking notes.

Scorpius shakes his head. “No. I told Albus I wanted to be by myself, and I went to search an empty compartment, where I stayed for the rest of the trip. I saw Albus at the carriages the next time.”

Quinn nods slowly. “Do you have any information about the circumstances of Travers’s death?”

“No,” Scorpius says steadily.

“Do you know anyone who would know what happened to Travers?”

“No.”

Harry sighs in relief inwardly, thanking bloody Merlin that Scorpius hasn’t got anything to do with Travers’s death. He glances at Malfoy, who too looks relieved, his impassive expression crumbling slightly as he squeezes his son’s hand, swallowing hard.

The Malfoys walk out of the room after fifteen minutes, after Malfoy stiffly informs Harry that he will be at the crime scene. Slughorn leaves too, and then it is just Harry, Quinn and Smith.

Harry pinches the bridge of his nose, feeling now more nervous of Albus’s questioning than he earlier had been. There’s of course Rose, who was probably the last one to see Travers alive, but…it couldn’t have been Rose. It couldn’t have been Albus, either, Harry reminds himself.

* * *

Their lunch break is silent; both Quinn and Smith know to leave Harry to his own devices. Harry steps outside of the classroom after forcing down a couple of forkfuls of shepherd’s pie, and sees Ron pacing along the hall, nervously biting his fingernails.

“Hey, mate,” Ron says, a bit stiffly, stopping in his tracks. Harry sees the worry and dread in his eyes.

Harry walks up to him, to clap him on his shoulder, to hug him. He wants to reassure him, wants to tell him that their children have nothing to do with Travers’s death, that it must be an unfortunate coincidence that they are being questioned today under Veritaserum. But nothing comes out from his mouth, as the words are stuck somewhere in his throat.

“They’re gonna be all right, Harry,” Ron murmurs, as they pull away from each other. “It’s _our children_ we’re talking about _._ You know they’ve got nothing to do with it…”

Harry knows Ron’s right, but – but why are they in the centre of this? Why?

Of course, he has thought of the possibility of a set up – and had spoken about it with Hermione the previous night, after giving her an update of the situation. It could be possible – that someone did this to harm Harry, Hermione, Ron and their families. Someone could’ve done it for multiple reasons; to hurt Harry or Hermione – who are both in respectable and high positions at the Ministry; to hurt their children, because they are the children of the ‘golden trio’. But by whom it would’ve been done? The people who had seen their children in contact with Travers, were from different houses, different years, different families – yes, some of them were Travers’s friends, but they too were questioned under Veritaserum. Had there been a setup, it would’ve come up. Harry’s sure of it.

He trails a hand through his hair. “Yeah. I just want to get this case figured out,” Harry mutters, his mind whirling, and thinks bitterly how he’s not any closer figuring out what happened to Travers than he was three days ago.

Ron gives him a strained look. “I know you’ll crack it. You’re the best there is,” He says, and when Harry glances at him with a wary look, Ron shrugs and continues pointedly, “I mean, you _did_ defeat the darkest wizard there was…”

Harry shakes his head in exasperation, shoves Ron lightly, feeling a bit better. Soon, Hermione and Rose join them, and it is time for Rose’s questioning.

A moment later, Harry watches from the back of the classroom, as Rose’s hands shake when she tips down the vial of Veritaserum, and watches, as Quinn begins to question her as he did with James and Scorpius earlier.

“Tell me you whole name and birthday, Rose,” Quinn says steadily.

Rose immediately speaks in a monotonic voice, “Rose Jean Granger-Weasley, born on July 23rd, 2006.”

Quinn nods. “Good. Do you know why you are being questioned again?”

“Yes,” Rose says quickly. “I might be the last person who saw Jenna Travers alive in the train.”

Harry sees the tension between Hermione’s shoulders, and the worry in Ron’s eyes.

Quinn scribbles something down. “Tell me about the train ride…”

And again, Rose goes through the trip, almost exactly like she had explained it the previous day. Except, the only difference being, that Rose had met with James and Hugo before she had met Travers. Harry frowns a bit at that, but as Quinn continues the questioning, it is apparent that Rose had merely mixed those two events, after being very nervous about her questioning. What she tells now, Harry thinks, matches to the times James had given them; some time after five.

“…And, as I was returning back to my compartment, I saw her – Jenna,” Rose says, her voice calm, the words flowing out of her in a steady stream.

Quinn nods at her. “How did Miss Travers seem to you? Distressed? Peaceful?”

“Distressed,” Rose says instantly. “Because most of her things in her trunk were covered in the Permanent Colour-Change Ink by Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes,” she continues, “Which can be removed only by their Guaranteed Five-Second Ink Removal potion.”

Ron lets out a very quiet groan. Hermione gives her husband a narrow-eyed look.

Quinn, however, is focused on Rose. “What happened then?”

“I felt bad, because I heard what had happened at the party, how – how cruel James had been,” she says, and Harry wants to purse his lips, since, yes James had been _quite_ out of line _,_ but then again, so had Travers, with how she had treated Albus, as well as spreading awful rumours about Harry and his son on the train, in the beginning of their holidays.

Quinn glances at his notes. “You think James’s actions were not acceptable, even after what Travers had done to his brother?”

Rose frowns at him, shaking her head. “No. Jenna and Albus – they broke up a long time ago, and ignored each other afterwards. James shouldn’t have said those things to her.”

Quinn nods. “What happened after you found her with her trunk, on the train?”

“I told her that I’m sorry for how my cousin had acted. I told her I could lend her some books, if needed – as I had some of them in my trunk.”

“Why did you have sixth year books in your trunk?”

Rose answers without a pause, “Because I like to read ahead.”

“Did you go to Travers’s compartment?”

Rose nods. “I did. I picked up a book from my trunk, and went to bring it to her, to her compartment.”

“What time did you go there?”

Rose frowns slightly. “Around six.”

Thirty minutes before the train reached Hogsmeade. Something Rose hadn’t clearly remembered yesterday, when she had been asked the very same question. Harry frowns, knowing that he needs to go over the details again with Malfoy _._

“How long did you stay there?” Quinn asks, after scribbling the details down.

“Less than five minutes.”

Quinn nods, his expression calm. “Was she alive and well when you left her compartment?”

“Yes.” Rose says without a doubt.

“…Was there anything out of ordinary in Travers’s behaviour?”

Rose shakes her head. “No. She was quite a lot calmer than she had been in the corridor earlier,” she says resolutely.

Quinn nods slowly. “Did you go straight to your own compartment after leaving Miss Travers’s?” He asks.

“Yes.”

“Did you see anyone as you left her compartment? Did you see anyone walking towards, or into Travers’s compartment?” Quinn asks calmly.

“No, I did not see anyone after I left Jenna’s compartment.” Rose says instantly.

“Do you have anything to do with Jenna Travers’s death?” Quinn asks, for the third time today.

“No.”

Harry lets out a quiet sigh of relief. Rose doesn’t know anyone who would know anything about Travers’s death either, as Quinn asks it from her next.

There’s still Albus, and after that, Harry can focus again. When Albus’s questioning is over, after the Veritaserum has removed any possible suspicion towards Harry’s younger son, they’re back in the beginning. This time, however, Harry will be glad to have been wasting two days, if he can prove that the suspicions towards his children can be removed.

Rose leaves with Ron and Flitwick, towards the Ravenclaw tower, while Hermione stays close to the door, her gaze at Harry.

“What next?” She asks quietly.

Both Quinn and Smith leave the room for a bit – Harry knows that it is merely to give Harry and his boss some privacy, as they will both need to return soon back for Albus’s questioning.

Harry lets out a sigh, leaning back on his chair. “After Albus?”

Hermione nods. “We both know there will not be anything crucial found by questioning Albus again,” she says, giving Harry a small smile. “The boy doesn’t have a dishonest bone in his body…”

“Yeah, I know…” Harry mutters. “There will be others, questioned later today. But I have to say, Hermione,” Harry says, giving his friend a grim look, “It doesn’t look good. We’re not closer than we were two days ago.”

Hermione grimaces. “I was dreading you’d say that…” She says, leaning against the wall, watching upwards at the ceiling.

They both know, that sometimes it takes time, and that not every case gets solved. However, murder cases tend to be so rare, that they do get solved. Always.

“I need to talk to Malfoy, to see the train again. Perhaps it’ll help, if nothing else comes up before that,” Harry says wearily.

Hermione nods, watching Harry carefully. “Is everything all right? Between you and…Draco?” She asks, and Harry feels odd, that Hermione calls him by his first name, while Harry, well…Harry tries to keep it at ‘Malfoy’.

He gives her a shrug. “Yeah. Why wouldn’t it be?”

Hermione eyes him with a pointed look, a knowing look, and then, Harry realises. “You _know_ …”

She nods slowly. “I know.”

Harry groans, leaning forward, pressing the heels of his palms against his forehead, while resting his elbows at his knees, his fingers tangled into his hair. “You knew when you hired him, knew when you assigned him…”

Hermione sighs. “Yes, Harry. I knew. Does it matter?” She asks, somewhat tersely. “Are you unable to do your job because of him?” She asks, already knowing the answer, knowing, that nothing can make Harry unable to do his job, when he has decided to do it, to solve the crime.

“Hermione…” Harry murmurs, feeling ashamed that she knows.

Bloody Ginny. She had told her. Of course, she had told her.

“Does Ron know?” Harry asks, finally glancing at her, a cringe on his expression.

Hermione purses her lips. “Well – yes. And no.” she admits, looks away, and then gives him a sympathetic look. “Ginny. She, um, told her family…It was last spring, a dinner at the Burrow, before the thing between Mark and her began. Only, she didn’t mention the bit about Malfoy. Only that something had happened between you and someone else,” she explains, and then gives Harry a sad look, “It was when you decided you’d get a divorce.”

Harry sighs wearily, pulls off his glasses and rubs his face. “Bloody hell…” He mutters, feeling awful. What must the Weasleys think of him? Had they even known that his and Ginny’s relationship had not been working for a long time? Had they known that they barely spent time together, and only when their children were at home? Had they known that Harry and Ginny were basically roommates, long before Harry had met Draco at the pub that night?

Harry hears Hermione walking closer to him, before sitting down next to him.

“Don’t worry about it, Harry.” Hermione says softly, stroking his hair with gentle fingers, allowing Harry to lean his head against her shoulder. “It happened a long time ago. They knew you were having problems for a while, and Ginny asked them not to say anything to you. I believe it wasn’t discussed afterwards, and certainly not after Ginny started dating Mark.”

After a moment, Harry pushes back his glasses, and leans back to look at her.

“Do you regret it?” Hermione asks, her eyes moving over his face, “Whatever it was that happened between you and Draco that night?”

_Sex happened,_ Harry thinks, swallowing deeply. Something incredible happened, something, he hadn’t even thought could be possible. He shakes his head. “No.”

Hermione gives him a nod. Then, she lets out a long sigh. “The Minister needs an update,” she says with a small grimace. “I have to go back to the Ministry.”

Harry nods. “I’ll floo you tonight.”

Hermione smiles, kisses Harry on top of his head. “Okay.”

She leaves, and Harry stays alone in the quiet classroom, for quite some time, going over the case in his mind, before Quinn and Smith return, followed by Ginny, Professor Slughorn, and Albus.

Quinn starts with Albus exactly the same way as he did with the others earlier. Harry and Ginny sit next to Albus, as Quinn asks him to state his name and birthday, as he asks Albus to go over the train ride and asks about the row in the train corridor.

“Why do you think Miss Scott thought you needed protection? Why would she lie and tell us that you weren’t there?” Quinn asks, watching Albus carefully.

“Because she is in love with me.” Albus says simply.

Ginny gasps, and Harry too stares at his son in shock.

“S-She’s in love?” Quinn asks, surprised.

Albus nods. “She told me when I confronted her. After I demanded her to tell me why had she lied to the Aurors.”

_Bloody hell_ , Harry thinks.

Quinn clears his throat. “Tell me more about your relationship with Miss Travers. Did you stay mad at her, when you were separated? Bitter? Sad?”

“I was sad…and humiliated after what happened, but I think I recovered rather quickly,” Albus says steadily.

Quinn nods at him. “So, during your Christmas holidays, how did you feel towards her?”

Albus shrugs. “Indifferent. I hadn’t talked with her in a long time, hadn’t been close to her, until the party.”

“And after the party? You saw her? Talked to her?” Quinn asks.

Albus nods. “I saw her at the train, talking with Scorpius.”

“How did you react?” Quinn asks carefully.

“I asked her to bugger off. I think she was threatening him with something.”

Quinn nods slowly. “Do you think she was speaking ill of you?”

“I don’t know,” Albus says. “She could have.”

Harry frowns slightly. Albus _had_ been sure of it before.

“Did she threaten you?” Quinn asks then.

Albus nods. “She did.”

“About what happened at the party?” Quinn asks, his eyes moving over Albus’s face. “Between you and Scorpius?”

Albus frowns at him, looking confused. “N-No?”

Harry exchanges a look with Quinn. It should not be possible for Albus to lie under Veritaserum.

“Miss Travers was threatening you, yes?” Quinn asks again.

Albus nods. “She was.”

“Did she threaten to reveal your personal matters to others?”

“She did.”

“Did they concern Scorpius?”

“N-No…” Albus says unsurely, “I don’t know.”

Harry gives Albus an incredulous look. “Are you lying, Albus?” Harry asks, feeling shocked and confused.

“Sir,” Quinn says pointedly.

“No, dad. I’m not,” Albus says clearly, watching Harry through hazy eyes.

“Then –”

Quinn clears his throat loudly. “Sir.” He says tightly, interrupting Harry. Even Ginny’s staring at Harry in disbelief.

Harry clenches his jaw, knowing he has no business to question Albus himself. He gives Quinn a sharp nod, staying silent.

“Did you attend the party your brother organised during New Year’s?” Quinn asks from Albus.

Albus nods. “Yes, I did.”

“Were you in your room, with Scorpius?” Quinn continues.

“Yes.” Albus says indifferently.

“Did Miss Travers interrupt your – eh – intimate moment?” Quinn asks next.

Harry is mortified, while Ginny lets out shocked ‘Their _WHAT?!’,_ her scream covering whatever Albus had answered.

“Mrs Potter.” Quinn says steadily, giving Ginny a sharp look, somehow, to Harry’s astonishment, making the redheaded woman silent. Ginny too is a bit taken aback, and stays quietly gaping at both Quinn and their son.

“Albus?” Quinn asks again. “Can you repeat your answer?”

“No. We didn’t – we’re not intimate.” He says instantly, a confused look on his face.

A deep frown pulls itself between Quinn’s brows. Harry feels as confused as Albus looks. How the hell could one of them lie during a questioning under Veritaserum? There has to be an explanation. It simply cannot be possible.

“What is going on?” Ginny asks incredulously, and Quinn merely gives her a pointed look, before turning his focus on Albus.

“You’re saying that you weren’t – erm – kissing Scorpius, and interrupted by Travers, at any point?” Quinn asks, a tinge of redness on his cheeks.

Albus shakes his head firmly. “No.”

“Not even though Scorpius himself has said it had happened?”

Albus frowns deeply at Quinn. “No.” 

Ginny scoffs loudly, her words, and the glower in her expression aimed at Harry, after she sees the hesitant look in Harry’s eyes. “Why are you taking Scorpius’s word over our son’s?!”

Harry frowns at Ginny, and then stares at both Albus and Quinn in bewilderment, wondering, what in Merlin is going on, knowing, that there is possibly no way either of the boys could have been able to lie under Veritaserum.

Then, after a short, baffling silence, Harry has a suspicion. A quite bothersome suspicion, in fact. “Quinn?” Harry asks almost wearily.

Quinn looks at Harry, helplessness flickering in his eyes, asking with his gaze if they should continue, or if they should somehow try to figure out if Albus is lying.

“Repeat what Scorpius told us he asked from Travers, before the dispute in the corridor,” Harry says faintly.

Quinn frowns slightly, but then, seems to realise that Harry is on to something. He shuffles his pages and glances around before he finds what he’s looking for.

“What is this?” Ginny hisses, giving Harry a disbelieving look.

Harry shakes his head to her, before inclining his jaw at Quinn, perfectly aware of the scowl he receives from Ginny in return.

“Scorpius asked Travers not to speak of what she had seen at the party,” Quinn says, glancing at Harry and Albus, and then back to his notes, “And as I asked Scorpius, what had Travers seen, Scorpius confirmed that she had seen Scorpius with Potter, upstairs…er – kissing and, um, touching each other, intimately.”

Ginny lets out an outrageous gasp, her eyes moving sharply from Quinn, to Harry, to Albus, and back to Quinn.

“What the hell is this?!” Ginny asks again, her eyes blazing with anger, before she turns to her son. “Albus, what _is_ this?!”

“It’s James,” Albus says, finally, his face red, as if he has tried to stop himself from saying it.

“W-What?” Ginny breathes, utterly taken aback “J-James? _James?”_ She whispers, looking like she’s going to faint soon. And Harry thinks vaguely, it is quite remarkable, since Ginny’s not a person who is easily shocked, not after growing up with six older brothers.

Albus nods, lazily. “Scorpius calls me Al. Not…not Potter.”

As Ginny lets out a croak of incredulity, Harry, however, feels that everything is starting to make sense, even if the ‘sense’ makes him groan inwardly in exasperation and concern.

James was not questioned about the party under Veritaserum, because Quinn hadn’t seen it important, knowing that Harry had been concerned about the alcohol and the underage kids. And because James had neither seen Scorpius nor Travers during the train ride, there was no way they could’ve put together the truth. Scorpius had asked Travers on the train not to say anything about _James_ and him, knowing how she must’ve felt like after James had treated her so badly in the party. Albus on the other hand, hadn’t apparently known about what had happened between his brother and his friend, and had thought that Travers had merely spoken ill about Albus. Or, perhaps, it was what Scorpius had insisted to Albus, Harry thinks. Albus hadn’t even known that Scorpius had originally told Quinn that Travers had been threatening to spread false lies about Scorpius and Albus, something that Harry had seen from Albus’s expression, when Quinn had asked about their relationship.

Quinn continues to ask if Albus had had anything to do with Travers’s death – _no_ – or if he knows anyone who had – _no_ again.

Harry is relieved, but at the same time, puzzled and distressed regarding James. What was his son thinking? James is happily together with Charlotte, soon to be engaged, if Harry has understood correctly. James is also soon to be picked into one of the teams in the Quidditch league, where, Harry thinks with regret, being gay would definitely not be tolerated. James could lose the contract if it would come into public knowledge that he’s seeing men. Harry is grateful, however, that his eldest has a strong alibi, and that James’s questioning under Veritaserum had gone as Harry had both hoped and expected – since it seems that James would have had the best motive of all the students they have questioned.

A while later, the questioning has ended, and after fifteen minutes of excruciating silence, after Quinn has confirmed that the potion has worn off from Albus; Quinn, Smith and Slughorn make their excuses, leaving Harry and Ginny in the room with Albus, all three of them in uncomfortable shock.

As soon as the door closes, Albus takes in a couple of deep breaths, his hands shaking on his lap.

“Al…” Ginny says quietly, her voice weaker than Harry has heard in a long time.

“ _Don’t._ ” Albus says forcefully, covering his face with his hands. “Leave me alone.”

Harry stares at Albus, not really knowing what to do, or what to say. He had suspected that Albus’s and Scorpius’s relationship had been something more than a friendly one, but in the end, he had thrown away those suspicions, thinking that it had been a mere lie on Scorpius’s part. And apparently, it had been.

Harry looks at Ginny, who seems somewhat hurt by Albus’s rejection. Harry wants to give her a smile, to assure her that their son will be all right, but how can he, if he’s not sure of it himself. Because what Harry sees now, with Albus sitting there, facing away from his parents, his back in a tight curve, breathing unsteadily against his hands, well, Harry thinks that Albus might think of Scorpius as more than a friend, after all.

“Talk to us, Albus…” Harry says very quietly, feeling helpless. “I know you must feel betrayed. If you just help us understand –”

Albus nearly snarls at Harry, jumping up from his seat and glaring at Harry and Ginny. “Betrayed? _Betrayed_? It’s the fact that my best friend, and my bloody _brother_ lied to me! They went behind my back! Can’t that be enough, dad?!” He yells, storming away from the room.

Harry lets out a long sigh, while Ginny stands up, looking defeated.

“I-I’m…going to see James,” She mutters mutedly before disappearing through the door after Albus.

Harry is alone, his mind reeling. He knows he can’t think of what is happening between his sons and Scorpius, since he has a murder investigation going on. He knows he needs to focus and make himself ready to question the handful of students still, before he can think of other things.

He shakes his head, wondering when his life has not been complicated…


	8. It is very respectable, very well dressed, but underneath it is all wrong

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enjoy ;)

**Chapter 8: It is very respectable, very well dressed, but underneath it is all wrong**

**Hogwarts, 11 January 2022**

Albus doesn’t remember much from the walk back to his dorm after the questioning, after finding out about his brother and Scorpius. He’s definitely not mad because of some _feelings_ towards Scorpius! No, Scorpius is his _best friend_ , and they tell each other everything – at least, Albus had thought they did! And…and the fact that Scorpius would go for his _brother,_ without consulting him first, and then, keep something like that – and keep something as big as fancying men – from Albus, is…outrageous. He bristles at the thought, feeling betrayed, his mind still in a haze, his stomach still somewhat nauseous, his eyes still stinging – which he thinks is probably some after effect of the potion – and finally steps into the common room. Scorpius is nowhere to be seen.

“Hey Al,” Julian says from the couch near the fire, where he’s sitting with Cory and Cecil.

Albus quickly closes his mind, schools his expression into a blank one, before nodding at his friends and walking closer so his other house-mates cannot eavesdrop them. “Is Scorpius in dorm?” He asks stiffly, glancing at the direction to their dorms, suppressing the urge to grit his teeth together, forcing to stay expressionless, thinking that his friends would probably follow him if they’d think something’s not right.

“Yeah,” Cory says slowly, his eyes lingering on Albus’s face. “Said he wasn’t feeling well,” he continues quietly. “How was it? The thing? You okay?”

They all watch Albus carefully, but Albus merely shrugs. “It was fine. Nothing special. I’ll be back in a bit.” He grunts, and then turns around, disappearing into the hall leading to the dormitories, and finally, stepping into the fifth-year-boys dormitory.

Albus glances around the room, at the four-posters decorated with green silk hangings, and sees no sign of Zabini, but sees Scorpius, slumped on his bed, leaning his head against the headboard, while reading a book.

Rage lifts its head inside Albus, as he watches how his friend looks up, and gives Albus a questioning look. _That fucking liar_. The rage inside Albus also makes him perhaps a bit ill-mannered, as he reaches Scorpius’s bed with a couple of long strides, grabs the book and throws it forcefully across the room, before turning back to his friend, fuming, his fingers curling into tight fists that he barely can hold against his sides. He wants to throttle Scorpius so badly it nearly makes him dizzy.

“W-What the fuck, Albus?” Scorpius manages to stammer, through his surprise and annoyance.

Albus gives his friend a slightly maniacally triumphant look. “ _Exactly_ the fucking reaction I was hoping for!” He yells, but doesn’t move, standing still right next to Scorpius’s bed. “And, my dear friend, _exactly_ what I was thinking after I learned what you had been doing _with my brother_ during New Year’s!” He shrieks, glaring at the boy below him.

There’s a shocked silence.

“ _Oh fuck_ ,” Scorpius breathes faintly, looking horrified.

Albus seethes, taking a couple of steps back from Scorpius’s bed, fighting the urge to punch Scorpius into his stupid, pure-blooded, straight, perfect nose. “Oh, fuck, indeed,” Albus growls, leaning his back against the bedpost of his own bed next to Scorpius’s.

Scorpius slowly gets up to sit on his bed, swallowing hard. “I’m – I’m sorry.” He says, voice wavering a bit, his eyes wide, staring at Albus in apprehension.

“What the fuck, Scor?” Albus asks, keeping his voice steady, but unable to suppress the glare in his eyes. His chest feels heavy, and he tries to ignore it. “What the _fuck_ were you thinking, screwing around with my brother?”

Scorpius lets out a long huff of breath, rubbing his face, before looking at Albus, regret and shock still edged on his face. “I didn’t m –”

“Don’t fucking say you didn’t _mean_ it to happen, Scor,” Albus grits through his teeth. “I want to fucking know, what kind of potion you were on, or exactly where in the head you were hit, if you thought it was a good idea to fuck my brother when you were staying at _my_ place, as _my_ guest?!”

Scorpius shakes his head, giving Albus an incredulous look. “We didn’t – I didn’t fuck him,” he says quietly.

“And if Travers hadn’t interrupted you?” Albus asks darkly.

Scorpius gapes at him. “How did you find out?”

Albus narrows his eyes at Scorpius, crossing his arms over his chest. “Does it bloody matter how I found out?” He hisses, “What matters, is that you fucking went behind my back, without asking me, if it was okay to go for my _brother_ , and then you fucking lied about it afterwards!” Albus yells, almost panting.

Scorpius lowers his gaze, looking both anxious and remorseful, shaking his head at his lap. “I didn’t plan that to happen.” He says slowly. “I didn’t think…And, I didn’t think it would happen again, so…I didn’t tell you. And I didn’t tell you, because I knew how you’d react!” He says, with a weary look and an exasperated voice.

Albus grits his teeth together, knowing he should listen to Scorpius, knowing that he might’ve overreacted a bit. But still, he needs to think this through. He needs to talk to his arse of a brother. Or yell at him. Perhaps then, he can actually hear Scorpius out. Perhaps then, he can address the wretched feeling inside his chest, the one that makes it hard for him to breathe.

“I – I have to go,” Albus mutters, turning away from Scorpius.

Scorpius sighs. “Don’t leave, Al,” He says quietly.

Albus shakes his head, his back still at Scorpius.

“Al…”

Albus shakes his head again, and doesn’t look at Scorpius. He leaves the room, before he says something hurtful.

* * *

He finds James thirty minutes later, walking towards the Gryffindor Tower. At least, Albus thinks, he’s not accompanied by his girlfriend, knowing it’ll make what Albus intends to do a bit simpler.

“Oi! James!” Albus yells from the hallway at the bottom of the stairs, keeping his fury in check.

James stops in his tracks, and turns around in the middle of the stairs. “Hey Al,” he says easily. “What’s up?”

James doesn’t have time to react, before Albus has flipped up his wand, and aimed a wordless tripping jinx at his brother, glaring at him as James splutters and yells in surprise, and slips from his feet, tumbling down the stairs.

Albus quickly steps back, a shield charm already in place as James jumps up and a mere second later, throws a hex at him, roaring at the same time.

“What the bloody fuck, Al?!” James yells, and then they’re openly duelling, backing towards the hallway, sending hexes and jinxes in a rapid pace, whenever they’re not blocking what the other throws forward.

Albus jumps to the side as James manages to break his shield charm, growling, “What do you think, fucker?!”

James sends a mild slicing hex towards him, which cuts Albus’s lip.

Albus muffles a cry of pain, and as James actually pauses to see if Albus is really hurt, the Slytherin in him sends a quick levitation charm, before throwing James sideways against the wall with a sickening crunch.

“FUUUCK!” James screams, slumping down to the floor, panting, at the precise moment when their father, their mother, and the Headmistress arrive to the scene.

There’s a shocked silence, as the arrivals take in the situation. Then…

“…ALBUS?!” His mother shrieks, and Albus can’t really blame her.

James is lying on the floor, with his left arm twisting into a very weird and definitely painful direction, blinking through tears of pain. Albus, however, stands there, in the middle of the hallway, breathing heavily, his wand at the ready, his lip bleeding but otherwise intact.

Perhaps, he had gone a bit too far with this.

* * *

After James’s arm was fixed by an irate Madam Pomfrey, they received a thorough reprimanding from both their parents and the Headmistress. Albus and James were then directed straight into detention, to scrub out the bedpans in the hospital wing. Without magic.

“…I can’t fucking believe this,” James rumbles under his breath, only moments after they start their work in the small room next to the infirmary. “I could be at dinner – or – playing Quidditch – or – fuck – doing whatever the hell I _want,_ if it wasn’t for you, _”_ He hisses, giving a sour look at Albus, who bristles at his brother’s words.

“Yeah, instead you decided to fucking lure _my_ friend to snog you, so – here we are,” Albus says back venomously, scrubbing one of the pans furiously with soap and a cleaning brush.

Albus briefly thinks, that the old Madam Pomfrey must’ve been out of her mind to think they’d be finishing the several dozens of bedpans during this evening, without magic.

James clenches his jaw. “It’s not anyone’s business. Not even yours, Albus,” he says coldly, resuming to his pile of bedpans.

Albus scoffs, turning around to face his brother. “Not anyone’s business? Not – _listen_ to yourself, James!” Albus says incredulously. “You have a _girlfriend!”_ Albus continues, shaking his head in bewilderment. “What does she think about your doings?”

James throws a glare at him. “Nothing, because she doesn’t know,” James growls, his knuckles whitening against the pan he’s holding in his hands. “And she will never know. It was a fucking mistake. Do you understand?” He says, a threatening glint in his eyes.

Albus watches his brother silently for a moment. “Does Scorpius know that?” He finally asks, feeling the odd sensation gripping his chest again. He thinks it might be a form of protectiveness towards his best friend. Yes, that must be it, Albus decides, as he lifts his brows at James.

“What do you mean, does he know that?” James asks, an eye roll in his voice. “He should. I asked him to shut up about it.”

Albus’s eyes narrow at his brother. “And was _he_ okay with that?” Albus asks slowly, his voice dark.

James gives him an incredulous look. “Why would you care?”

“Because he’s my friend!” Albus yells exasperatedly, throwing his hands up, “Why do you think, arsehole?”

James arches a brow at him. “A _friend,_ you say?” He asks slowly, something contemplative – which Albus doesn’t really like – in his expression.

Albus looks back blankly. “Yes. A friend. In case you’ve missed the fact during the past five years?”

“Oh, I haven’t, trust me,” James says, a smug and knowing look in his expression, as if he’s realised something.

“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?” Albus asks, heatedly, cursing inwardly for letting himself fall into his brother’s trap once more, as the smug look on James’s face only intensifies.

He grits together his teeth, knowing that he can very well suppress his feelings, and stay expressionless. But not with his brother. Yes, James, for some reason, manages to bring the best and the worst out of him. He manages, somehow, to make Albus stay open and…vulnerable, whenever they’re together.

“What do you _think_ , Al?” James says, with such an infuriating meaningfulness, that Albus wants to hex him again, and again, until the fucker in front of him will stay quiet.

Unfortunately, the Headmistress has their wands.

Albus lets out a snarl of exasperation, feels his cheeks flush red, feels the tightness in his chest wavering, but he doesn’t give his brother the satisfaction of knowing exactly what the hell is going on in Albus’s head – even though, he kind of gives it as he turns his back to James, and starts scrubbing the bedpans with a furious determination, in order to finish as soon as possible, so that he will be released and so that he doesn’t have to see James’s irritating face again.

James chuckles. “Should’ve known…” He mutters, and Albus practically trembles with rage.

James too resumes to his scrubbing task, and Albus breathes heavily, his mind whirling.

What the hell is he doing? What the hell is _wrong_ with him? Why would James’s words make his insides sizzling like that? Why? Albus is frustrated, is enraged, is confused.

He’s – he doesn’t even know what he _is,_ anymore.

Because he’s quite certain he might be in love with his best friend.

Albus realises with bitterness and resentment boiling in his stomach, that James… _James knows._ And possibly, James already knew when he went after Scorpius. And if James knew then, Albus isn’t sure if he knows his brother at all.

* * *

**Hogwarts, 11 January 2022**

Harry paces in front of the classroom in the Entrance Hall, waiting for his Aurors to step inside, to go over the situation, to try to make sense of the slim evidence they’ve got. Both Quinn and Smith are already there, having been questioning students with Harry since this morning, both standing rigidly in place, and not minding one bit that their boss is moving there, with an anxious expression, huffing occasional words under his breath.

It is now past dinnertime, and everyone, who had come forth about seeing Travers during their train ride, has been questioned.

Which doesn’t exactly make Harry at ease.

“Sir,” Keir mutters, nodding at him as he steps inside the room.

Harry grunts his reply, as he does to the next nine Aurors, who sit along Keir, facing the front of the class. Smith and Quinn take their places next to their partners, as Harry flicks his wand to close the door with an added silencing spell.

“Today we questioned six students under Veritaserum, who had been reported of either having contact with Miss Travers during the holidays, the train ride, or had been otherwise close to her; Hazel Scott, Skylar Westen, James Potter, Scorpius Malfoy, Rose Granger-Weasley and Albus Potter,” Harry starts with and looks over the twelve Aurors, all of them taking notes while keeping closely attention.

“None of them, nor the two students we questioned yesterday under Veritaserum; Nate Riley and Pamela Scott, had any knowledge, of what had happened to Jenna Travers – nor did they have anything to do with her death. All of them confirmed it, under Veritaserum. In addition, all of them confirmed that they did not know of anyone else, who would have had anything to do with Travers’s death,” Harry explains to the twelve blank faces.

“The last person, as we know of, to see Travers alive, was Rose Granger-Weasley, when she went to Travers’s compartment, approximately thirty minutes before the train reached Hogsmeade,” Harry says, and detects some frowns and dubious looks. He nods, already guessing what they are thinking. “According to the Crime Scene Investigator, as well as the post-mortem-scan, time of death occurred between five-thirty and six-thirty pm,” Harry says grimly. “…With the blow to the head occurring possibly during a thirty-minute time range before Travers’s death,” Harry adds, having memorised Malfoy’s summary from the first night.

Every quill is scratching violently, as Harry continues speaking. “Which means, that the time of death, as well as the blow to the head had happened between six and six thirty pm, possibly only moments after Rose Granger-Weasley left her compartment.”

“Rose confirmed – under Veritaserum – that as she had left Travers’s compartment, Travers had been alive and well, and that there had not been anything out of ordinary in her behaviour. She also told us, that she had not seen anyone as she had left Travers’s compartment, on her way back to her own.”

Harry watches at his Aurors taking in the information, before he clears his throat. “There is no reason to suspect that any of the students we have questioned during the past three days, have something to do with Travers’s death. Albus Potter and Scorpius Malfoy had shared an argument with the victim, but that had been their only contact to her during the train ride. James Potter had not seen Travers at all during the train ride. Nate Riley had spent a short amount of time with Travers, as had Skylar Westen and the Scott sisters. All other students, who had seen Travers during the journey back to Hogwarts, were questioned during the first night and today afternoon, and each of them had seen the victim during the first hours of the trip, either with her friends, her boyfriend Riley, or alone,” Harry explains wearily. “The information we have now, does not point to any specific person. It is likely, that this case –” and Harry grits his teeth as he even thinks of it “– that this case will stay unresolved, for the time being.”

There are some questions, some arguments that are discussed; if it was a suicide – to which Travers’s last spell nor the way she had died do not point; or if an outsider had gone to her right after the train had reached Hogsmeade – which would’ve been noticed by the train wards. Wards, that are put up by the Headmistress herself. Harry knows it _could be_ _possible_ that someone, a very skilful witch or a wizard, had somehow managed to alter the wards momentarily, and put them back up. However, as the magic would’ve left a trace, and there would’ve been another magical signature, Harry thinks it is highly unlikely to have happened. And in addition, an outsider would’ve likely been seen by one of the hundreds of students.

They briefly go through each of the questionings again, go through the wand inspections, along with every possible oddness Prone has seen in the Marauder’s Map, but Harry feels that there’s nothing new. He tells his Aurors, that most of them will be leaving the school the next morning – all but Fungbury and Berrycloth; who will be stationed in the village, as well as Keir and Quinn; who will be stationed in the school.

It is close to midnight, when they finally finish their sum up. Most of the Aurors stay in the school, and less than half go back to the village. Harry, however, makes his way back to the crime scene. He needs to see it once more, needs to be there, needs to look at it, in case anything comes up, anything he might’ve missed earlier.

* * *

**Hogsmeade, 11 January 2022**

As he steps into the dark platform, surrounded by trees and the Hogwarts Express that stands eerily still, the handful of streetlamps reveal someone standing there. That someone is in the middle of the station, leaning against the stretch of a wall separating the couple of buildings from the platform.

“Malfoy,” Harry says, surprised to see the man still there. Harry blinks at him. “You’re still here.”

Malfoy arches a brow at him. “It appears that I am.” His voice is snarky, and Harry walks up to him, still frowning at the other man.

Malfoy’s gaze is at the train, and the door that is open.

Harry thinks the other man must’ve been there, in the compartment, for several hours.

“Why?” Harry asks, curiously, stopping close to him.

Malfoy turns his eyes at Harry, and there’s something flashing behind the silvery gaze, something, Harry thinks, that wants to insult him, that wants to tell Harry how moronic he is. Instead, Malfoy sighs, and looks down. “Something doesn’t add up. And…I needed some peace and quiet. To think.”

Harry nods slowly, wondering what else Malfoy needed to think, besides the obvious murder inspection. “Scorpius?” He asks hesitantly, knowing that he’s right when he sees Malfoy’s lips twitch into a rueful smile.

Harry lets out a weary sigh, brushing his fingers through his messy hair. “I know…” He mutters, staring into the distance. His sons are both, more or less connected to Scorpius.

Harry can’t stop wondering what is going on in James’s head, and why would his son risk everything he has worked for; a promising career in one of the Quidditch teams in the British league, as well as his future with Charlotte. He doesn’t blame James, for making a mistake – Merlin knows Harry has made them himself, even throughout his adulthood. He can only hope that James will not make decisions he’ll regret later in his life.

Harry’s thoughts move to Albus; there’s so much…resentment in the boy, that Harry is only starting to realise it. And he thinks that a lot of it is directed at, not Harry himself, but, to _what and who_ Harry is _._

“…James and Albus…” Harry mutters, shaking his head slightly. “It feels like I don’t know my sons as well as I thought...”

Malfoy hums under his breath. “Join the club, Potter…” He says wryly.

Harry looks at Malfoy, sees the closed expression on his face, and wonders, how strained Malfoy’s and his son’s relationship actually is.

“It was different.” Malfoy suddenly says, not looking at Harry. “When Astoria lived. Scorpius was different,” he says simply.

Harry watches him closely. “And you? Were you different?” He asks, not unkindly, but trying to picture the situation, knowing that how Scorpius was when his mother lived, was different from how the boy seems to be now, but knowing that a large part of it is being a teenager.

Malfoy’s brows twitch slightly. “Perhaps I was.”

Malfoy doesn’t continue, so Harry speaks about his sons, hoping it would help Malfoy to open up to him a bit more, thinking it would help the blonde Slytherin, as Harry is quite certain Malfoy hasn’t spoken to anyone about him and his son.

“I feel responsible, for what Albus feels – the anger inside him, and the stress he’s been put over, because of who I am,” Harry says quietly. “I wish it didn’t have to be like that for him. I wish, sometimes, that I wasn’t the Chosen One.”

Malfoy suddenly chuckles. Harry lifts his brows at him, feeling a tinge of irritation, but quickly realising the man is not amused by what Harry had said, but by something else.

“Did you know…?” Malfoy asks then, finally looking at Harry, “Did you know that my son was being bullied during his first year? That people were saying that – that Astoria –” Malfoy’s voice cracks, and he looks away again.

Harry knows. Of course, he bloody well knows about it; how some students in Hogwarts had started rumours that Scorpius was in fact Voldemort’s child, claiming that Astoria had travelled back in time, to the past and had – well, Harry had been as appalled as any sensible person, when Albus had told him. Harry had been as adamant as Albus, to never show pity to Scorpius, but always make him feel welcome in their home, and make him feel accepted.

“…Yeah, I knew.” Harry says softly.

“Did you know that it stopped when our sons became friends?” Malfoy asks, his eyes searching Harry’s. “That after everyone had seen the paper, or heard that the Chosen One and his children were associating with the Malfoys and were in friendly terms, the rumours stopped?”

Harry gives Malfoy a tight-lipped smile. He knows about that too, and remembers feeling that for once, being what he is, had been a good thing for someone. Had helped someone.

“You realise what I’m saying, Potter?” Malfoy asks with an inpatient tone.

Harry huffs out a short laugh. “I know.” He looks at Malfoy for a long while, his eyes moving over the sharp angles of his face, the aristocratic and somewhat arrogant features, thinking of their past; as rivals and enemies during their childhood, and remembers how it started to change – how Malfoy wasn’t suddenly sneering at Harry every time their paths had crossed, how they had started to greet one another, whenever their eyes met. Knowing that growing up had a lot to do with it. Knowing, that both Astoria and Scorpius had been important factors as well.

There’s a faint blush on tops of Malfoy’s cheeks as the Slytherin looks away, evidently due to Harry’s blatant staring. Harry’s mind goes back to the pub two years ago, and then, to the previous night, and he feels himself drawn towards Malfoy once more, feels his pulse quickening and feels the longing that he has tried to dampen down ever since their paths uncrossed.

He takes a deep breath, steeling himself. “Can we talk about last night?” He asks, very quietly, watching Malfoy’s reaction carefully.

Having thought about it several times during the past day, about Malfoy’s touch and his lips, Harry has had to force everything down, somewhere deep in his mind, in order to focus on his job. And now that he finally has a moment of quietness, a moment when he can think of something else than the fates of his children, or the crime they ought to solve, he wants very much to think of the previous night. He can still go and check the compartment later.

Malfoy looks at him, a hint of a smirk playing on his lips before he speaks.

“I was in the impression that you didn’t want to discuss the matter. That you swore it not to happen anymore.”

Harry’s insides jump slightly. “Do you want it to happen again?” He asks, somewhat surprised by his boldness, as well as his voice, which sounds lower than it had been.

Malfoy blinks quickly a couple of times, but his expression stays impassive otherwise, as he looks at Harry. “It would be highly unprofessional. Not to mention, unwise, all things considered…”

Harry licks his lips, staring at the expressionless mask on Malfoy’s face, turned away from Harry. He then realises that Malfoy hasn’t said ‘no’. That he hasn’t said if he wants it to happen again. Which…Harry thinks he does. Or…he at least hopes so.

He takes a step closer, and then another, moving to stand in front of Malfoy – who stays admiringly still, his eyes tracking Harry’s movements. He’s an inch or two taller than Harry is, he only then notices, and is looking slightly downwards at he stares at Harry.

“Potter…?” Malfoy asks quietly, but doesn’t say more, doesn’t object, as Harry steps into his space, so close that their thighs are touching. The air is charged, compressed between them.

Harry places his hand against Malfoy’s shoulder, watching his reaction, his throat tight. He watches Malfoy’s every movement very carefully, as he lets his hand slide upwards, his fingers moving, touching Malfoy’s neck, and the line of his jaw, brushing the corner of his lips with his thumb.

A short, uneven breath leaves Malfoy’s lips. “What are you doing, Potter?” Malfoy asks with a blank look, unable to hide the roughness in his voice. He doesn’t move away.

He doesn’t move an inch, Harry notes and swallows hard. “Kissing you,” He murmurs, moving himself closer.

Malfoy gives him mild sneer. “Quite fascinating, your kissing methods – I actually can’t feel a thi –”

The rest of his words are muffled, as Harry covers Malfoy’s lips with his, their kisses instantly greedy and slick, their breaths hot against each other’s lips. Harry grips Malfoy; his other hand against his neck, holding him in place for Harry to ravage his mouth; and the other, roaming searchingly over Malfoy’s body, before finally stopping in the middle of his back, where he presses the other man slowly towards him.

Malfoy gasps against Harry's mouth as soon as their hips meet. Harry is breathless and frantic, shuddering as Malfoy's other hand tangles with his hair, while his other hand slides down to rest against Harry's arse. Harry feels feverish when Malfoy tips his chin down to press small, biting kisses onto Harry's jaw and throat.

“ _Fuck_ …” Harry groans. “Feels so fucking good…”

Malfoy lets out a muffled sigh against the junction of Harry’s neck, thrusting against him – and Harry shudders as he can finally feel the hard line of Malfoy’s cock through his robes.

Harry pulls Malfoy’s head up, presses his lips softly against his, “ _I want to fuck you,”_ Harry whispers to Malfoy’s lips.

Malfoy lets out an irritated huff. “Such a charming wizard you are, Potter, I might even swoon,” He mutters dryly, but at the same time, he brings his hand to squeeze Harry’s cock through the fabric of his robes, so Harry shrugs off the comment, and instead shivers with desire.

“Then what are we waiting for?” He breathes, before tracing Malfoy’s lips with his tongue. “Let’s go back to the pub…”

Malfoy’s both hands stop at Harry’s shoulders. He pulls back slightly. “What _were_ you doing in here?” He asks, out of the blue, a hint of sharpness in his voice.

Harry blinks at him, the haziness filled by hunger and lust slightly dissipating, and glances around them, both frustrated and confused that Malfoy wants to talk about that _now._ “Oh. I was…um, going to check the compartment,” He says, and then gives Malfoy a sheepish look. “And also, to talk to you about the investigation if you happened to still be here.”

Malfoy arches a brow at him, putting more distance between them – at least, as much as he can, since he’s pressed between Harry and the wall. “What about?”

Harry scratches the back of his head. “Erm. Rose said she was in the compartment around six pm…”

Malfoy gapes at Harry for a moment, and then scowls at him. “You utter imbecile.” He growls, before shoving him away. “You realise what I said merely moments ago, about this –” He hisses, gesturing between them “– being entirely inappropriate.” He lifts his brows at Harry, who now feels a wave of embarrassment flicker through him under Malfoy’s hard stare.

“Perhaps, now you understand, _why_?” Malfoy continues, seething.

Harry sighs wearily, trailing a hand through his hair in order to soothe it down, knowing, it must be sticking into all kinds of directions after Malfoy’s long fingers were – _bloody hell,_ he can’t think of that right now!

“I was going to talk to you in the morning, in any case.” Harry says, and it is the truth, as it is quite late at night already, and he hadn’t known that Malfoy had still been at the scene. And Harry could’ve gone to see the compartment in the morning, allowing himself a few hours of rest. He gives Malfoy a shrug, “And…you said _unprofessional_ ,” He points out, the corner of his mouth twitching. He earns a scowl from Malfoy in return.

“Bloody tosspot,” Malfoy grunts, already making his way back to the compartment.

Harry follows him obediently, knowing that it is for the best, that, he ought to focus on his job, and not fucking Malfoy into his mattress, however tempting it sounds in his mind. Perhaps, if he somehow manages to solve this puzzle, there will be a time for that, later.

* * *

The silence stretches between them, but neither of them speaks. Draco knows, that Potter’s mind is on the case again as he sees the same look of concentration, the same ambition in Potter’s eyes, that Draco knows has shone from his own every time he’s been absorbed in his work. He doesn’t disturb Potter.

The compartment is lit by the lamp over their heads, but otherwise the train is dark and quiet. Everything is in place – except the body and the blood – like it had been when Draco stepped in the compartment the first time. He watches, as Potter stays crouched in the middle of the room, staring at the exact spot where Travers was lying, his posture still.

Draco wonders, what Potter might be thinking, what goes around in his strategizing Auror-mind, and how he is possibly going over the events that led to this. The fact that the Weasley kid had been here, mere moments before Travers had got hit in the head and died, is…fascinating, and at the same time, infuriatingly frustrating, as the girl had not seen anyone, and Travers had been quite all right as Weasley had left the compartment. If nothing else, they had managed to shorten the time range into thirty minutes.

“Could you talk it through once more?” Potter suddenly asks, and Draco rolls his eyes.

“Naturally,” He murmurs wryly, and hears an amused huff from Potter’s direction.

Draco clears his throat. “The scan confirmed my preliminary analysis; A sixteen-year-old girl. Cause of death: blow to the head, resulting a massive blood loss and a traumatic brain injury. No other wounds, damage or bruising elsewhere in her body. Based on body temperature at my arrival, and what could be determined from the scan, the time of death occurred between five thirty and six thirty pm, two days ago – which we now know to be between six and six thirty, based on witness questioning. The sedative levels in her bloodstream were high; most likely Calming Draught – however,” Draco says, pausing, glancing at his notes, “Those tend to be more difficult to recognise after certain amount of time.”

Potter gives an agreeing sound. “And the traces of magic in her body?”

“No spells were found, no traces of any other magical signatures, but her own.”

Potter nods slowly. “What about the wand analysis?”

Draco knows that Travers’s wand was more carefully inspected at the Ministry, by spells more thorough than Reverse Spell, which can only display the echo of the last spell the wand has performed.

“In a backwards order; Locking spell, Vanishing spell, Levitating spell, Vanishing spell, Summoning spell, Duplicating spell, Colour Changing spell; all performed during that particular day,” Draco says, reading from the report.

“Interesting, yet…all are –”

“Common spells,” Draco murmurs.

Potter stands up, a small smile on his lips as he glances at Draco. Potter gives Draco a once over, and Draco feels his throat working a couple of more times than necessary as a result.

He seethes inwardly. Fucking Potter with his meaningful looks and his maddeningly soft smiles and his alluring bright eyes. Draco gives him a sneer, and Potter merely turns away, a ghost of a smile on his lips.

Potter moves to the door, trails a hand over it, feeling the magic in it, and frowns.

“What is it?” Draco asks, watching Potter closely, disregarding the sting of irritation he feels at the man, who is apparently capable of performing wandless magic, as he keeps waving his hand over the door.

“Feels different…” Potter mutters.

Draco arches a brow at him. “All magic ought to feel different, if cast by different people.”

Potter hums thoughtfully, and then glances at him. “Cast a locking spell at it.”

Draco takes a step back, giving Potter the most dubious look he can summon, “No. I don’t want you to – to _feel_ my magic,” He says, feeling somewhat aghast. “It’s…personal. You cast it.” He adds accusingly.

Potter rolls his eyes. “Fine.” He huffs, and flicks his wand at the door, and then, puts his wand away, and starts to inspect the door with his hands.

“Feels different.” He says again, frowning at the door.

Draco lets out an impatient noise. “As expected. Did you not listen as I said that magical signatures are quite personal?” He says with a crisp voice.

Potter gives him a narrow-eyed look over his shoulder. “I knew that.” He says with a hint of exasperation in his voice, and then looks back at the door. “Her spell felt weaker than mine.”

Draco clicks his tongue. “ _Really,_ Potter? A sixteen-year-old girl’s spell is weaker than the one cast by the Saviour of our world?” He asks, mockery dripping from his voice.

“Sod off, Malfoy,” Potter grits out. “It a fucking _lot_ weaker, trust me.”

Draco watches as Potter continues the inspection. “It could be possible. That her locking spell was simply…weak. However, I doubt it could leave the signature to the door, and _not_ lock it,” Draco says simply.

Potter stares at Draco for a long moment.

The silence is interrupted by a sudden appearance of a silver crow, which, quite easily, manages to scare the shit out of both Draco and Potter.

 _“Sir, upon our arrival to the village, Ms Bones – the landlady – informed that Mr Travers had left you a note. I took the liberty of reading it, as he had informed it concerned the inspection.”_ Fungbury’s voice rumbles from the crow’s beak.

Draco and Potter share a quick look, before turning their focus back to the Patronus.

“ _Mr Travers had stopped by at his home, and had inspected their potions’ cabinet. He confirms that some potion vials are in fact missing. Calming Draught_. _Three vials.”_

The Patronus disappears, and Potter sighs, casting his own silvery stag, and sends a quick message back to Fungbury to thank him for the information, adding that he’s still at the scene with Draco, and that they will both return later.

Potter then takes a look at the room again, his mind somewhere else. “Something…there’s something, I’m missing,” He mutters.

Draco watches him expectantly, until, it must be at least ten minutes later, Potter gives Draco both a harsh and an eager look.

“I have a theory I want to go through.”

Draco lifts his brows in question. It’s about time. He makes an unimpressed noise. “And I thought you brought me here to merely stare at the walls,” he drawls.


	9. As you yourself have said, what other explanation can there be?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here it is! The great reveal! Eeek! I'm so excited (also cracking up) and I can't WAIT to hear what you guys think of this! :D  
> Decided to put the last two chapters together, so there's only 1 chapter after this :'(.

**Chapter 9: As you yourself have said, what other explanation can there be?**

**Hogwarts, 12 January 2022**

“Julian,” Scorpius says in the morning. “Could I have a word with Albus?” He asks with a tight voice.

Albus’s eyes flick over to Julian, who is the only one left in their dorm, save for Scorpius and Albus, and is in the middle of rummaging his trunk.

Julian shrugs, glancing at Albus. “Yeah. Fine. I’ll get my books after breakfast,” he says and leaves without saying anything else.

There’s a long silence. Albus sits in the middle of his bed, his eyes trained at the schoolbag he’s filling with the books he will need later in his classes. He swallows hard as he sees Scorpius’s frame in his peripheral vision.

“Al?” Scorpius asks quietly, but rather…vehemently. And Albus knows he can’t avoid his friend, like he had done the previous night, when he had returned from his detention.

Zachary, Julian, Cory and Cecil had all been curious to hear why Albus had landed himself into a detention, astonished that their usually calm and collected friend had lost his temper in the most Gryffindorish way. However, after they had heard that Albus had been brawling with his brother, their initial surprise had diminished somewhat. Albus’s friends know quite well that if there is someone Albus has ever lost his temper at, it is his brother.

Scorpius hadn’t asked about the detention the previous night. He had only asked Albus if they could talk a bit, but Albus had outright declined, lying to his best friend that he was too tired. Albus knew that Scorpius had seen right through him and had understood that Albus simply hadn’t wanted to talk to Scorpius, which made Albus feel even more ashamed than he already was.

Scorpius didn’t know the actual reason why Albus was avoiding him, no… because – how could Albus tell him, that after he’d hexed his brother for snogging Scorpius, Albus had realised that he himself wanted to do the exact same thing?

Albus curses inwardly, hating himself a little for being so jealous, for feeling so betrayed, that he has become a shitty friend to Scorpius. He forces all the miserable and confusing thoughts into the darkest corner of his mind, wills himself to stay blank before he faces the greyness of Scorpius’s gaze.

“Al…please?” Scorpius asks quietly.

Albus sighs, and finally looks at his friend. Scorpius is watching him with both beseeching and desperate look in his eyes. He looks so pale, so… vulnerable, that Albus nearly flinches. He can’t even remember if he has seen his best friend like this before.

Albus’s throat is suddenly dry, and he has trouble of swallowing. He has trouble of breathing properly. “Hmm?” He manages to ask, summoning a look of indifference to his features.

Scorpius frowns at him. “What did you do?” He asks mutedly, his eyes flickering to the almost healed cut on Albus’s lip and back to meet Albus’s steely gaze.

Albus wants to scowl at him. Apparently, the only thing his friend is worried about, is what _Albus_ had done to James. “Does it matter?” He grits out.

Scorpius watches him steadily. “It does.”

Albus stares at his friend. What does Scorpius mean? What the hell does he _mean_ by that? He looks at the silvery-grey eyes, searching, searching for something. Anything that could give him the answer, because he can’t bloody well outright ask his best friend if he fancies Albus’s brother.

“Why?” Albus asks, his voice quiet.

Scorpius swallows convulsively, his throat bobbing. He looks away, his jaw tightening, his cheeks colouring. He’s embarrassed. Or, perhaps he is afraid to admit it to Albus – why it matters to Scorpius.

Albus doesn’t need to ask more questions, and Scorpius doesn’t have to say anything – Albus can see it from his friend’s expression. Because he knows Scorpius.

And it is such a fucking disappointment. Albus can almost see the cloud of bitterness and jealousy and resentment flooding into him, filling him and twisting his insides.

“He has a girlfriend,” Albus says, knowing that it is pointless to bring it up. Knowing that he’s a right knobhead to say it.

“I know.” Scorpius says faintly, staring hard at the bathroom door, his expression closed.

Albus feels like his chest might explode with distress. “He’ll choose his career. He’ll choose Char.” Albus says, knowing, _fucking knowing,_ that he shouldn’t be saying these things to Scorpius, and that he should be the bloody friend Scorpius deserves, but the ache in his chest and the tightness in his throat forces it out, and Albus feels powerless.

Scorpius gives him a jerky nod. “Yeah.” He says quietly, and then turns to go back to his own bed, slumps to sit down on it, and buries his face in his hands.

And as his friend finally speaks after a long silence, only to tell Albus that he’ll be down for breakfast in a moment, Albus cowardly uses the opportunity to flee from the situation, snatching his bag and nearly running out of their dormitory, feeling like the world’s worst human being.

* * *

“Thank you for joining me,” Harry speaks to the crowd: to Travers’s family, to all of his Aurors who have been working with the case, to all of the teaching staff, to the Headmistress, to Malfoy, and to Hermione as the Head of the DMLE, and to the Minister for Magic and a handful of his secretaries.

“It is time to solve this case,” Harry tells the audience. “There are two possible solutions to what happened to Jenna Travers on the Hogwarts Express, 9 January. One of the solutions is quite simple, but, unfortunately, would leave an offender unsentenced, for the time being. This solution would fit with most, but not all the facts.” Harry speaks grimly, feeling the tension around him in the Great Hall.

He looks out of the window at the softly flickering snow, the glimmering white grounds, and then shakes his head sharply. “The second solution, the more…complex one, it fits,” He says with a small nod to the crowd. “It fits with the facts.”

Harry takes in a deep breath. “Miss Travers had many friends, but as most of us, one could not be in friendly terms with everyone,” Harry explains. “She had some arguments with occasional students. Quite normal arguments – the sort that comes with being a teenager.”

“During the train ride, she argued at least with three people. And found out that she was the victim of a prank,” Harry says.

“And just like any of us, Miss Travers must’ve had moments when she felt overwhelmed. Moments, when it was too much. Perhaps she felt she needed a break from all of it? Whatever it was, she had sought ways to calm herself.”

Harry sighs, and sees the alarmed looks in Mr and Mrs Travers’s eyes. “But what she didn’t know – what she failed to realise, was when to stop.”

There is a long moment of silence, as Harry watches the people gathered in the hall, a sombre look on his face.

“Only hours after her death, there was an unusually high dose of sedatives in Miss Travers’s bloodstream.” Harry explains wearily. “We received a confirmation later, that the potions cabinet at Miss Travers’s home was missing vials of Calming Draught. Three to be exact.”

_“Potter! Where are you going?” Malfoy asks, unable to mask the eagerness and impatience in his voice._

_Harry throws him a look over his shoulder, right before he’s about to disappear to the corridor on the train. “Wait here! I’ll be back in a minute!”_

_And Harry does, fifteen minutes later, carrying a book and a handful of –_

_“Calming Draught? Really, Potter?” Malfoy says with an arched brow, likely knowing what Harry is going to do. “And what part does the book play in this scenario?” He asks, somewhat curious, as Harry sets the book on the edge of the bench, before levelling Malfoy with a steady look._

There are suddenly shocked gasps and murmuring in the Great Hall.

Harry lifts a hand up, and silence falls once more.

“One of the students had met Miss Travers in the corridor, less than an hour before her death. The student had described Miss Travers as ‘distressed’, as they were questioned under Veritaserum. Then, the same student had helped Miss Travers – had lent her a book to replace the one that had fallen under a prank of their schoolmates,” Harry says, and there’s a pause, as he thinks of his and Malfoy’s conversation in the compartment, “Then, fifteen minutes later – as the same student had stopped by at Miss Travers’s compartment with the book – they described Miss Travers to be quite a lot calmer and in perfect health, when leaving Miss Travers’s company and returning to their own compartment.”

_“Rose_ had _seen her, between one of these,” Harry says with a meaningful look, before tossing down one of the vials._

_Malfoy makes an urgent move towards him, only stopping as Harry lifts up a hand._

_“Potter…for the love of Salazar, tell me you’ve thought this through…?”_

“Amongst the spells Miss Travers had cast with her wand that day, were two Vanishing spells, before the last spell Miss Travers had cast; a Locking spell to the door,” Harry explains. “Vanishing spells, that were likely used to vanish the vials of the potion.”

_Harry then vanishes the empty vial and brandishes it in front of Malfoy’s face. “Two Vanishing spells…?”_

_Malfoy gives him a contemplative look, his eyes flashing silver, his jaw tight._

“After a thorough inspection,” Harry says, his mind flickering to the compartment last night, and what resulted during their, well, _his_ , little experiment, “It became clear, that Miss Travers had taken three vials of Calming Draught, before casting her last spell – the locking spell – to the door. And, due to her condition – as with three vials of Calming Draught, it is quite remarkable that she had even been standing at that point – her magical signature, however weak it had been, was transferred to the door. But the door was not locked. The spell had not been strong enough.”

Another wave of gasps and shocked sounds fill the hall.

_Harry tosses down the two remaining vials, quickly, before Malfoy can do anything but growl his ire at Harry while gripping his shoulders and shaking him._

_“You bloody fool!” Malfoy spits out, releasing Harry and lifting his wand to, well, what Harry assumes is to summon an antidote for the dose of Calming Draught Harry has ingested._

_“Wait!” Harry says, and hastily vanishes the two vials, and not a moment too soon, as the next second the room starts to spin around him, and Harry knows he couldn’t have done it anymore._

_“…fuck. I’m…I’m high…” Harry mumbles, stumbling in his steps._

_Malfoy actually snorts, and then Harry thinks he schools his features, but he’s not sure, as suddenly, five Malfoys stand next to one other, all having the same condemning expressions, tinted with worry and amusement in their grey eyes._

_“Stop…moving…” Harry mutters, squinting at the door, where he knows he needs to cast the locking spell._

_“Do it already, Potter,” Malfoy hisses exasperatedly, and Harry wants to tell Malfoy that it’s easy for him to say, when there’s only one Harry for him, but for Harry, there’re many, many Malfoys, and as much as many doors spinning in front of him._

_He finally does it – the locking spell, at least he thinks he did it, when Malfoy mutters, “Curious…”_

“Miss Travers’s death was both an unfortunate accident and the result of a careless use of sedative potions,” Harry continues, his voice now sharper, making everyone fall silent once more. “She fell, unable to control her body after taking three vials of Calming Draught, and hit her head to the edge of the bench in her compartment. The blow to the head caused a massive blood loss and a traumatic brain injury. Had someone been there with her – as Miss Travers had been barely conscious after she fell and incapable of summoning help – we wouldn’t be here today.” Harry speaks solemnly.

_He blinks. The room is filled by colours, his vision darkening at times, and the five Dracos are looming over him, looming over the sky…or…perhaps it is the ceiling…Harry’s not sure._

_“…You…utter…arsehole…” Draco gasps, his beautiful face twisted in agony, his hands moving over Harry, his eyes blazing._

_There’s so much red…Draco’s hands are like liquid roses, Harry thinks vaguely._

_He feels light, he feels…loved. He feels the gentle nudge of Draco’s magic, all around him, making him feel…good…making him want to melt into Draco._

_“…I’ll fucking show you love, Potter. I’ll fucking kill you if this doesn’t –” There’s a hitch in Draco’s voice, and Harry realises, that his eyes are brighter than he’s ever seen them. Glimmering. Draco’s complexion is whiter than Harry has ever noticed it to be. Like snow…_

_“…You’re beautiful…” Harry mumbles, smiling, slipping into the darkness._

“The train’s wards were not breached. Miss Travers’s compartment did not display anyone else’s magic, but her own, as didn’t her body in the post-mortem-scan that was performed a day after her death,” Harry says, feeling weary, feeling… disappointed after realising how easily Travers’s death could’ve been prevented. After all, the evidence to that small little detail still pulses nastily on the back of Harry’s head, obscured by a basic concealing charm.

“Based on this – based on the evidence; I declare this case solved. Jenna Travers died by an accident. An accident, she had caused by herself.”

After his final word, the hall explodes with shocked sounds, with urgent discussions, with several, raised hands. And Harry nods at each of them in turn, answers each of the questions calmly and steadily, until the next one.

* * *

“Hey, Al,” Rose says, catching up with Albus as he walks along the edge of the frozen lake after breakfast – after McGonagall had ushered everyone out and informed that their classes were dismissed for the day.

Albus nods at his cousin, still in a foul mood, after his conversation with Scorpius before breakfast. “Rose.”

He stops in his tracks, forcing away the nausea and the ache in his chest, and looks at her. “You okay?”

Rose nods, letting out a long breath. “I know I shouldn’t – I mean, we weren’t even friends with Jenna, but…I can’t stop thinking how horrible it is, what happened to her,” she says, her voice thick. “…Even though I reckon many people thinks she deserved it,” she says with a displeased tone, biting her lip.

“She didn’t,” Albus says quietly, looking at the snow surrounding their ankles. “I’m just glad it’s over.”

He’s glad the inspection is over, but he dreads everything it brought up.

“Me too,” Rose says, taking Albus’s hand and squeezing it.

Albus swallows hard, and looks away from Rose, trying not to think how many times Scorpius has given him the same gesture, and how many times Albus has thought nothing of it.

But it hadn’t been anything. Albus is nothing more than a friend to Scorpius. And now Albus is not sure if he is even that.

He feels Rose’s eyes on him. “Is – is everything okay with you and, um, Scorpius?”

Albus suppresses an eyeroll, suppresses the urge to throw something, or trash something. “Yes,” he says with a clipped tone. Trust Rose to see everything, even though they don’t sit at the same table.

His cousin stares at him.

“It doesn’t matter. We’ll be fine,” Albus says tersely, glancing at her. “Don’t worry about it.”

Rose lets out a huff of breath, frowning at him. “He didn’t look good, Al. Perhaps I should go and –”

“ _Stop it_ , Rose!” Albus suddenly grits out, glaring at his cousin. “Stop thinking that you’re gonna be anything more than a friend to him!” He yells, realising how hysterical he sounds. Realising that he’s breathing heavily. He feels like he might be suffocating.

Rose lets out a shocked gasp, her cheeks flushing red, a hurt look in her blue eyes.

“…Fuck,” Albus mutters, furiously shaking his head, feeling how his throat keeps tightening, how his breath is hitching. “I didn’t – don’t listen to me…” He gasps, turning away from his cousin, turning his back to her and hoping to bloody Slytherin that she doesn’t ask why, or that she doesn’t bring up the fact that Albus is trying so fucking hard not to cry in front of her.

There’s a long silence, during which Albus tries to steady his breath, tries to close his mind, and tries not to feel at all. Because if he does, he’s not sure if he can bear it – not there, in the middle of the grounds, in front of everyone. What he needs, is to be alone.

Rose lets out a long, weary sigh. “Oh, Albus…” She whispers, and then, Albus feels her fingers curl against his waist, her forehead pressing against his back.

A shuddering breath leaves his lungs.


	10. But after all, why not?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Last but not least ;) 
> 
> ...The final chapter (and the one with most of the smut, of course) !  
> Thank you so much for reading and liking this story!

**Chapter 10: But after all, why not?**

**Hogwarts, 12 January 2022**

“Potter.” Draco says mutedly, appearing to Harry’s side.

Harry turns to look at him, his mouth pulling into a smile on its own accord. “Harry.” he says meaningfully, knowing that after everything that has happened, the blonde wizard cannot be allowed to call him by anything else but his first name. His eyes move across Draco’s face, and all he can think of, is that everything between them is different. A good different. A brilliant different, even.

A muscle in Draco’s jaw jumps, but he gives Harry a small nod, seemingly unaffected. Harry, however, sees right through him. “Harry,” Draco mutters.

They watch the crowd on the other side of the hall in silence, as their boss nods rapidly at the Minister for Magic while two of his secretaries write down each word. There are likely putting up a statement for the press. They watch at Mr and Mrs Travers who discuss with the Headmistress in the corner, looking both detached from the people surrounding them and overcome by grief. They watch and acknowledge, as one by one, the Aurors come to say their goodbyes to Harry, before returning to their homes and the Ministry.

Harry feels relieved, but at the same time, he’s burdened by the past days’ events. The case is solved. A young girl, as young as his own children are, has passed away, and Harry knows exactly how easily it could’ve been prevented. He thinks of the girl, wondering if she had known how the potions were going to affect her. If she had intended it to happen. If she had wanted end her life.

The thoughts and the feeling fade away, and then, Harry is calm again, thanking Merlin that his own children are in one piece. He looks at Draco from the corner of his eye: the other man stands stiffly in place, his posture perfect, his face expressionless, but his eyes – his eyes watch the grieving parents who have lost a child, and something close to compassion flickers in them. Harry knows he must be thinking of his son.

Harry also knows that he needs to sit down with his own sons, that he needs to figure out what is going on in their lives. If Harry has learned something from the past three days, it is taking a responsibility, and being a parent when it is needed. He and Ginny together will have to do something that is long due: be honest to their children. And in return, perhaps, they will do the same.

Harry looks at Hermione again, sees how strained her expression is, as she speaks to the Minister, before glancing at Harry and Draco. She says something and then excuses herself, making her way towards them.

Hermione lets out a long, weary sigh as soon as she stops in front of them. “Thank Godric we can soon put this behind us,” she says, her tone distressed. She then eyes both Harry and Draco with a scrutinising look.

“You do make a good team, after all,” Hermione says slowly, her mouth curving up slightly. “I did have my doubts.”

One of Draco’s eyebrows lifts up. “Oh? Do tell.” He drawls in a narked manner, as if he’s offended that there were any doubts regarding his or Harry’s professionalism in the first place.

“Well, I wasn’t sure if you two could keep your hands away from each other, considering what happened the last time you met,” Hermione says to Draco in a saccharine tone, her smile wide.

Harry quickly suppresses a snort, while Draco simply rolls his eyes, even though his cheeks flush with pink.

Hermione tells Harry that they need him for the statement, and then says her goodbyes to Draco, telling him that she will be expecting a full report on her desk next morning. Draco merely nods at her.

They are alone once more. They look at each other, but neither of them speaks. Harry knows what the reserve in Draco’s grey eyes means: they have a lot of talking to be done. Apologies, forgiveness, acceptance – and Harry knows it will not be uncomplicated, and that it will be bloody frustrating, and dreadful, and it might not even work out between them. But at the same time, he thinks…that it if he does not see it through, he will regret it for the rest of his life.

Then, the blonde wizard gives him a sharp nod and turns on his heels without a word, sweeping his robes at Harry as he turns away and walks out of the Great Hall, his head held high.

Harry stares at his back, watching the infuriating and impossibly handsome wizard, feeling bewildered, feeling light, and wonders, if they will make it through without strangling one another in the process.

With a little shake of his head, he suppresses a grin before accompanying Hermione and the Minister for Magic.

* * *

“You be good, Rose,” Ron says pointedly at his daughter.

Rose rolls her eyes. “Dad – when have I been something else than good?” She asks, innocently.

Lily stifles a laugh next to Harry, who gives his daughter an inquisitive look. “Something to add?” He asks from her, but Lily merely shrugs back, walking away from Rose and Ron, leading Harry towards the Quidditch pitch.

“You’re gonna be okay, dad, right?” She asks, her gaze on the frozen field, as their walk slows down into a stop.

Harry frowns at Lily. “Of course. Of course, I’ll be okay. And so will your mum.”

After the Minister had left, followed by Hermione, Harry had met with Ginny, and together, they had decided to talk to their children about their divorce. In order to preserve some privacy, they had taken up one of the small classrooms on the second floor. It had been uncomfortable, quiet and painful, had left Harry feeling raw and concerned. He reckoned Ginny was feeling quite along the same lines.

The children had taken it as well as one would, when hearing that their parents were going to split up – even though Harry suspected that both James and Albus already knew. Harry and Ginny had assured James, Albus and Lily that they would still be in their lives, and that their love for their children had not changed. But that their love for each other had changed, into a different sort of love.

James had watched Harry and Ginny closely, listening carefully, while occasionally chewing the inside of his cheek. Lily had burrowed herself against Ginny’s side, and had cried silently. Albus – well, Albus had mostly stared out of the window. Which made Harry’s chest ache.

Lily turns to Harry, and levels him with a serious look, making Harry nearly stumble backwards. She looks so like her mother, looking straight through Harry, in a way that is almost scary. “I knew about you and mum. Before today.”

Harry’s eyes widen, and he swallows tightly. “H-How?”

A small frown takes place between her brows, and she looks away, her eyes moving from one goal-post to another.

“Al – he…knew. He had found it out. He told James and me all about it yesterday,” She says, and then adds with a bitter tone in her voice, “and, well, he told Travers. When they dated, Albus had told Travers that his parents are getting a divorce. Amongst other things,” Lily says, scrunching up her nose in distaste. “She really didn’t have any respect for him.” She says quietly, and gives Harry a sad half smile.

Harry is utterly amazed and taken aback by his fourteen-year-old girl. He’s astonished how bright she is, how – how mature she is, as well as surprised by her insightfulness. At the same time, he feels mortified, that Albus…that Albus had known so long. And hadn’t said anything to Harry or Ginny – or his brother or sister, for that matter, until yesterday. But he _had_ opened up to a girl he had been dating at that time.

Harry feels equally ashamed that he didn’t – that he and Ginny kept it from their children in the first place. They had the right to know. “I’m sorry. We should’ve told you,” He says letting out a long breath. “You deserved the truth. At least, at the point when we had made our decision.”

Lily looks at him carefully. “So, it’s happening, then?” Harry detects a mixture of dread and panic in her eyes.

He nods at her. “Yes.” He says calmly, brushing away a few stray hairs from Lily’s face. He stays silent for a moment, thinking his words carefully. “Some things will change, but you will not lose either of us. You will still see us, whenever you like,” he says, giving her an assuring look.

Lily frowns, and then, presses against Harry, her head tight against his chest. And Harry, he feels like a weight has been lifted from his chest, only to be replaced by another – the worry for his children, the worry about the future. He’ll keep his word to her, of course he will, but…but that doesn’t mean he’s not scared about what will happen to them.

“Whatever happens between Ginny and me, we are both still going to be in your life, like we always have. And in Albus’s and James’s,” Harry murmurs, hugging Lily tighter against him. “Even though your mother and I will not be married nor live together, that doesn’t mean that we don’t care for each other.”

He feels Lily nodding against him, before she speaks, very quietly. “Okay.”

* * *

Albus sits alone on the side of a silent courtyard, listening the distant voices of laughter, chatter, and goodbyes. Many parents have stopped by at the school to see their children, after the Headmistress cancelled the lessons for the day. He reckons that what went on the last three days, had been quite stressful, for many people – the students, their parents, the teachers – and that it was probably only sensible to let everyone take a moment before resuming to normal.

He sighs, casting another warming charm around him. He only wants to be alone. He doesn’t want to go to enjoy the day without school, doesn’t want to go to say goodbye to his mum or dad. He wants the day to be over, and the next. And the one after that.

But, what he wants often does not happen. Which is clear, as his brother plops down to sit next to him on the bench.

“I told her,” James says quietly, letting out a deep sigh. “She…didn’t take it well.”

Albus turns to look at his brother in surprise, wondering, if Charlotte will keep the information to herself, wondering, if they’ll break up over it, wondering, why James had told her? Because – because of…Scorpius? He pushes those thoughts back into the far corner of his mind, and merely nods at his brother. “It’s the right thing, I suppose.”

James looks ahead, at the white courtyard, at the untouched snow in front of them. “Yeah.” He says quietly, a small frown between his brows. “Don’t know if there’ll be a future for us…”

Albus digests his words. “Because she thinks that? Because you think that?” He asks, not really sure if he’s ready to hear James’s answer.

James looks at Albus, chewing the inside of his cheek, looking somewhat regretful. “Both, I think.”

Albus clenches his jaw, looking away. Of fucking course. Of course, James will break up with his long-time girlfriend and go after Scorpius instead. Of course, he’ll endanger his whole Quidditch career – or at least, that is what he said it would do, for a – a – what? One, drunken night of necking? Albus shakes his head in frustration. Of course, he’d do so. Because this is Albus’s life, and when has Albus ever got what he wanted? When has James not got everything he wanted?

Albus sighs wearily, knowing there’s nothing he can say about it, knowing that everything he wants to say, would be a very dickish thing to say, to both James and Scorpius. Because, deep down, Albus knows that James wouldn’t – he wouldn’t do anything, if Albus said he’d minded.

And even without actually saying anything, Albus thinks that James knows what Albus wants to say. What he forbids himself to say.

He knows that James knows, by the way his brother keeps fidgeting.

“Look, Al…I knew, yeah. That…you fancy him, or something,” James says quietly, a grimace on his lips. “I wasn’t sure then, but I had my doubts, and I didn’t mean it to happen, I swear it – you know we were both plastered,” James mutters, a strained look on his face. “I regret it happened, because after…I knew you’d be hurt.” He sighs, and adds with a small incline of his head, “You and Char both.”

Albus processes his words. “And if I didn’t? If I wasn’t hurt? Would you have regretted it?” He asks blankly, his eyes moving over James’s anguished face.

James is silent, looking at his lap. “I’m sorry, Albus.”

Albus presses his teeth together, feeling angry, feeling betrayed. The unfairness of the situation is making his stomach roil. He moves his gaze away from his brother. Because he might take a swing at him.

“Nothing’s going to happen, Al, I kno –”

“Don’t bother, James,” Albus says firmly, swallowing hard. He doesn’t want that – that blame – he doesn’t want to be a reason for something, whatever it is. He shakes his head, feeling his eyes stinging. “Don’t do anything for my benefit.”

James sighs desperately, running a hand through his hair.

They sit in silence for a long moment.

There’re footsteps coming closer to them, and both Albus and James turn around to glance behind them.

“Hey,” Scorpius speaks, his voice hesitant. “Can we, uh, talk?” He asks from James, glancing briefly at Albus.

For once, he can’t read Scorpius. For once, Albus doesn’t outright _see_ what goes on in his friend’s mind. But he doesn’t have to see to know exactly what.

Albus stands up from the bench, right as James mutters a quiet “Yeah.”

Albus and Scorpius exchange a look, before Albus turns away, taking a couple steps back towards the castle, swallowing down the frustration and ache that presses against his chest, that twists his stomach. He stills and closes his eyes as Scorpius says his name behind him, as if asking where Albus is going, but at the same time, like he’s merely acknowledging Albus taking his leave.

He walks to the castle, and doesn’t look back, even though he wants – even though he wants to run back and demand both James and Scorpius to say it aloud, to tell him what the hell is going on, so that he can prepare himself for what will happen. Instead, he runs into his dad as soon as he steps into the Entrance Hall.

“Hey dad,” Albus says blankly.

His father gives him a tired smile. “Hey Al. You okay?” He asks, nudging his jaw towards one of the seats lining the walls. “Do you have a moment?”

They sit down side by side, and Albus shrugs, knowing that his father is waiting for an answer. “I’m fine. I’ll be fine,” he adds, after seeing the inquisitive look in his eyes. Trust his father to know all about the fucking embarrassing drama between Albus, James and Scorpius.

Albus looks away and sighs, leaning forward with his elbows against his knees, his hands hanging between his legs. “Can we just forget the whole thing?” He asks faintly, not wanting to discuss it, or even think of it. He looks at his father, who places a soothing hand on his shoulder, and squeezes slightly, as if to remind Albus that he’s there.

“If you want to.”

Albus is silent for a while, and nods, his eyes at the front doors, that remain closed. “Yeah. I want to.”

His father is silent for a while. “Albus…why didn’t you tell me you knew? About – about your mum and me?” He asks quietly, his voice thick.

Albus’s lips twist into a rueful smile, but he doesn’t look at his father. He keeps his eyes at the floor as he speaks. “I dunno, dad,” He finally says, thinking back when he realised what was happening between his parents. It was last summer – which to Albus, feels like a lifetime ago. Everything had been different then. Scorpius had spent some of his holiday at the Potters, and everything had been… _normal_ , between them. He wonders, if they will ever go back to that.

One night, during the holidays, they had snuck out at night, and when Scorpius had been a bit hesitant, Albus had assured him that his parents were only interested in their jobs – and at times in James’s Quidditch – and wouldn’t even notice that they had been away. Later that night, back in Albus’s room, Scorpius had asked, quite simply, if Albus thought his parents were happy together.

The question had come out of the blue, and Albus had quickly disregarded the sudden feeling of apprehension, telling himself and Scorpius that that wasn’t the case. But it had been. After Scorpius had left back to Wiltshire, Albus had watched his parents, had listened their conversations when they thought no one else was in the room. And he had realised what was happening between his parents. He had felt…betrayed. They had been planning it, agreeing to keep it between them, to lie to Albus, James and Lily.

He hadn’t wanted to say anything, purely out of spite.

“I…I was, I guess I was angry at you and mum, keeping secrets from us…”

His father lets out a long breath. “Was that the only thing? Not –” He trails a hand through his hair, a bit frustrated, “Not that it wasn’t the wrong thing to do to you, not that you don’t have the right to be angry about it.” He adds quickly, and continues, “I just…I’d like to know if there was something else…?” He speaks, almost silently.

Albus swallows hard. Of course, there bloody well was. Still is, some days. But…can he be mad to his own father, for being the Saviour? For making a better future for everyone? In his own mind, he can, and he was. But not – not so much anymore. He’s tired of being angry about it, because it will not likely change. Albus will always look like his father. He will always be his father’s son. The saviour’s son. And he will always be outshined by James. And if that doesn’t make him sound fucked up, he doesn’t know what will.

He looks at his father, and sees the concern and protectiveness in his gaze. “It was not the only thing.” He says faintly, tries to tell him with his gaze that it _was,_ and not quite so much anymore.

His father lets out a wavering breath. There’s a deep frown between his brows as he studies Albus’s features, somewhat helpless.

Albus looks away, his lips pressing into a rigid line.

His father sighs, but doesn’t say anything. Instead, he puts his hand over Albus’s shoulders, and pulls him closer to him.

And Albus, he doesn’t object – not even though they are in the middle of an empty Entrance Hall, where anyone could see them. He leans against his father’s side, briefly marvelling how familiar and safe he feels. And for a moment, he closes his eyes, wishing he would be a young boy again, wishing that the world – his world – would be like he remembers it had been when he was younger.

“I’m sorry, Al,” his father mutters, kissing the top of Albus’s head.

* * *

**Devon, 12 January 2022**

Harry apparates home late in the afternoon, after saying his goodbyes to his children. As soon as he sees the familiar sitting room materialising around him, he checks the wards – a habit that is integrated deeply into his daily life, after witnessing so many break-ins to other people’s homes during his long career as an Auror. However, nothing is out of order – not that Harry was expecting it to be, knowing that his wards are rather impenetrable.

With a sigh, he trudges upstairs into his bedroom, shucks away his Auror robes, and proceeds to take a long, scalding hot shower, determinedly keeping his mind blank. After washing up, he puts on a loose t-shirt and his tracksuit bottoms, and hesitates for a moment. Knowing that he needs to eat first, before his mind takes over and before he starts to go the case through in his head in order to write down the report his boss is surely expecting on her desk by the next morning, Harry walks quickly back downstairs to the kitchen.

After hastily putting together a couple of sandwiches, Harry slumps down on the comfortable sofa in his sitting room, flicking his wrist to summon a quill and a stack of parchment, as well as Quinn’s and his notes.

He shoves one of the sandwiches down, as he starts to scribble down the report, occasionally glancing through his notes.

Two hours later, he’s somewhat finished, at least for the day. Harry decides to review the report in the morning before sending it out to Hermione. He will be working the next day, of course he is, but he also needs a good rest, and that definitely means he will not be at the office at the hour Hermione is expecting Harry’s report. He leans down against the sofa, his head falling to the backrest, feeling heavy. Harry stares at the ceiling, his mind still in the case: still going over the details, still checking that he has seen all the clues, that he has paid enough attention to the evidence. The result was clear, Harry is sure of it, but he still needs to go over the case in order to let it go – something he had to learn to do, as years went by and all his cases and all the people that were part of them, were all there, stuck in his head.

His thoughts linger in the girl’s sad fate – how it all could’ve been prevented. Harry feels resigned as he thinks how something like that can happen by an accident. He thinks it wasn’t an accident, though, which doesn’t really make him feel any better about it.

Harry closes his eyes and lets out a long breath. He thinks about the previous night in the compartment. He thinks about drinking the potions, remembers the feeling of lightness surrounding him. He remembers the darkness, the emptiness and the blood, he remembers Draco’s face: horrified, panicked, looming over him in the compartment. He remembers waking up in the hospital wing some hours after it had happened.

He thinks of Hermione and Ron, their distressed expressions, the gratitude in their eyes as they told Draco how incredibly thankful they were that Harry was okay, and that Draco had helped him. He remembers their shocked looks when Draco informed them with a crisp tone that Harry had decided to perform an experiment that nearly cost his life.

_After promising the Headmistress, Madam Pomfrey, Quinn, and both Ron and Hermione, that everything was going to be explained the next day, and that he was not going to perform such a test in the future, without agreeing with someone about it beforehand, they finally leave the infirmary, letting Harry rest._

_Draco is about to take his leave as well, but Harry calls out to him before he can follow the others outside._

_“Draco.” Harry says quietly. “Can I have a word?”_

_Draco stills at the door, then nods, his back still to Harry. He closes the door a moment later, walking back to Harry’s bed, a blank look on his face._

_“I want to thank you. For your help,” Harry says earnestly, knowing that everything could have been a lot, lot worse if Draco hadn’t been there – and if he hadn’t brought Harry back to the castle._

_Draco looks away from Harry, his face darkening. He is silent for a long time, looking like he is trying to restrain himself, but eventually, the words burst out from his lips. “Bloody lunatic, is what you are,” Draco says with a biting tone. However, Harry sees the worry and softness in his grey eyes._

_He smiles widely at Draco. “But I cracked the case.”_

_Draco’s jaw tightens, and he shakes his head, looking somewhat displeased, grumbling under his breath, “Your head is what you cracked…”_

_“Come here,” Harry says, his voice soft now, watching carefully at Draco’s reaction as Harry stretches out his arm for him._

_Draco swallows, his throat bobbing, his eyes fixated at Harry’s hand._

_“Draco…” Harry murmurs intently, and Draco blinks, seeming uncertain and…vulnerable._

_Harry lets out a relieved breath when the elegant, long fingers curl against his, as Draco steps closer to sit on the edge of his bed._

_“Potter,” Draco says mutedly._

_“Harry.” Harry says firmly, watching at the other man process it._

_Draco nods slowly, his eyes moving over their entwined fingers. “You’re married.”_

_“Not for long,” Harry says quietly. “And this isn’t about Ginny, is it?” He asks, having seen the bitterness in Draco’s eyes, every time he has pushed Harry away. He thinks it is something else than Ginny, but he doesn’t know what._

_Draco moves his gaze at Harry, his piercing grey eyes watching him closely. “I’m an adult, Harry. I don’t have the energy, nor the time for – whatever complicated situation you are trying to drag me into. I’m not to be used whenever it is suitable for you. My pride would not stand it, however much I wanted it,” he says with a cool voice, his eyes steely._

_Harry’s brows pull into a deep frown, and he shakes his head, feeling entirely confused. “I-I’m not trying to use you!” He says with a huff of earnestness. He wouldn’t – he doesn’t. He squeezes Draco’s hand, before the other man can pull it away. “I wanted to – Merlin knows I did – but you told me to stay away from you!” He says, finally realising what Draco is on about._

_He’s talking about the pub, and what happened between them two years ago. When they’d had sex in the bathroom – and Harry had tried to keep his hands away from Draco, he really, really had. He’d seen the state the blonde wizard had been in, had known that Draco must have been hurting still, since it had been only months after Astoria’s death. He had known it then, that it wasn’t the right thing to do, not when Draco had been utterly pissed, still mourning his late wife, but…Harry had been powerless. Powerless, when Draco had spoken to him like he had: telling how he had sometimes dreamed of Harry, that he’d sometimes wanted Harry, so much it nearly hurt. Powerless, when Draco’s touch had felt so good, when Draco had been something Harry had hoped for, had wanted for so long, and had not realised it until right that moment._

_They had talked, a lot. And then they had kissed. A lot. At some point, they had dragged each other to the bathroom, where Draco had sunk to his knees in front of Harry, making him nearly explode with want and need before anything had even happened. It was heaven: Draco’s mouth, his lips wrapped around Harry’s prick, his tongue doing the most sinful things. Needless to say, Harry hadn’t lasted long. But he had been adamant to make Draco feel as good as he had – if not even better. Harry still remembers – still dreams of it, of pushing into Draco, into his tight body. He remembers how Draco had gasped, his chest against the door, his head turned to the side, lips pink, panting, groaning as Harry had brought them both into nearly unbearable bliss._

_And Harry had wanted to talk to him, afterwards. He had. But Draco had, somehow…closed up as soon as they had stepped out of the bathroom. He had disapparated, only seconds after telling Harry to never talk to him again._

_Harry blinks away the memories, and focuses on Draco, whose eyes are sharp and narrowed at Harry. “You told me to never speak to you again,” Harry says very quietly._

_Draco processes the words, and the muscle in his jaw tightens, before he lets out a frustrated noise, wrenching his hand away from Harry’s, and trailing it through his hair. “Bloody hell, Potter,” He then hisses, looking away, a tormented expression taking over his features._

_There’s a tense silence, but Harry remains quiet, waiting as Draco seemingly has an internal fight, most likely to decide which spiteful words to throw at Harry._

_“How in the name of Salazar you cease to listen to me, when I ask you to not hit your bloody head on a bench,_ on purpose _– but you do, in fact, listen, the one fucking time I don’t want you to?!” Draco growls, his eyes blazing at Harry._

_Harry blinks at him, and is unable to hide his grin. “I knew you’d save me,” He says softly._

_Draco outright blushes, but then fixes a scowl on his face. “You bloody idiot…”_

_Harry nods slowly. “Might’ve been. Now…can you forgive me for respecting your wishes? I promise not to do so the next time.”_

_“You do not want to piss me off, Potter,” Draco says with a threatening tint in his voice._

_So close, but not close enough, Harry thinks, as his eyes roam over Draco’s face, stopping at his lips. Harry moves his gaze to meet the darkened, grey eyes, and lifts to sit up, hissing slightly in pain as he feels pressure in the still healing wound in his head. Draco looks alarmed, for a second, but doesn’t have time to react more, as Harry places a hand against his neck, and pulls him into a bruising kiss._

_“I won’t,” Harry murmurs against Draco’s lips, “As long as you come closer, since my head’s killing me,” He says and kisses Draco once more, ignoring the impatient huff he receives in reply, before he lowers himself back against his pillow, pulling Draco down with him._

_They kiss for a long time, slowly and softly at first, but then, intensely, longingly, desperately. Harry needs to be close to him, needs to feel Draco, and doesn’t want to stop kissing him, tasting him, to breathe in his scent._

_He knows the exact moment Draco feels Harry’s hardened prick against his thigh – as Draco shivers, breathing unsteadily._

_“…the door,” Draco murmurs against Harry’s lips, before licking into his mouth._

_Harry grins, fumbles for his wand, and locks the door to the infirmary, knowing they only have fifteen or so minutes, before someone will realise it and force their way in. And he doesn’t want to waste a moment. His hands roam over Draco’s body, tracing his ribs, his chest, while Draco’s hands urgently tug away the covers from top of Harry, and then easily find Harry’s cock under the thin hospital gown._

_“…Ahh, fuck,” Harry gasps, closing his eyes at the intense feeling, as Draco’s lips move to suck Harry’s neck, and as his fingers move over Harry’s shaft slowly, twisting slightly at the tip of his prick, making Harry see stars every time._

_“…Draco…” Harry groans, as Draco’s lips return to meet his in a heated kiss. “I need – I need to feel you…”_

_Draco lets out a breathy sigh. “Bloody hell, Harry,” He mumbles, as Harry’s fingers find the buttons of his trousers, and yank them down, along with his pants._

_“Come closer,” Harry says, his hips rocking, chasing Draco’s strokes._

_And Draco does. They shuffle a bit in the bed, until Draco is lying beside Harry, with one of his slim and long legs hooked over Harry’s._

_Harry pulls him closer, and they both groan at the contact, as their hips press together, their cocks sliding against the other unsteadily. Harry thinks it’s the most intoxicating feeling in the world, to feel Draco’s prick, jerking against his, making him feverish, making him want to surrender himself into Draco’s will entirely._

_Harry slides his hand between them, holds them both in his hand, as Draco leans closer to gasp against Harry’s lips, and they kiss slowly, noisily, grunting, as Harry starts to jerk them off, the room filling with wet, obscenely arousing sounds._

_And Harry shivers, grabbing Draco’s hip with his other hand, pressing his fingers tightly against his skin as waves of pleasure start pulsing in him, making him want more, more of Draco, more of this, more of them. He doesn’t want it to end, wants to only feel Draco like he now does; feel him nearly shattering, feel him vulnerable, and open, and so…breath-takingly beautiful._

_Harry keeps stroking them, knowing how close they both are, feeling the steady build in his groin. Revelling in the sharp, roughened noises coming from between Draco’s lips, he moves the hand grasping Draco’s hip, sliding it to the small of Draco’s back, and starts to deliberately lower his fingers, slipping them under Draco’s trousers that hang halfway over his arse._

_“Ahh…” Draco moans, burying his head to the juncture of Harry’s neck, panting heavily, as Harry’s fingers move lower, and lower along Draco’s cleft, until Draco is jerking against him, groaning, his cock pulsing, the sudden wetness between Harry’s fingers making his head spin and melt, his pleasure rushing, his climax crashing over him, until he too is a panting, wet mess, with his mind blank and his body sated._

_Draco goes limp and turns to lie on his back, staring blankly above himself while catching his breath. Harry too collapses back against his pillow, feeling euphoric, for both what transpired only moments ago, and finally being able to hold Draco against him, and really, really, feel him._

_He feels light, and drunk, and wants to revel in the feeling as long as he can. Draco finally regains consciousness, and rolls gently over to face him, his fingers tracing Harry’s bunched up gown, and the skin below, that is sticky with their come._

_“Pomfrey’s probably coming to check upon us soon,” Harry murmurs, waving his hand over his stomach, casting a wandless cleaning charm to scrub out the worst of the mess._

_Draco grimaces, closing his eyes briefly. “Thank you, Potter, for nearly ruining it.” He drawls._

_Harry snorts, and watches at Draco, his eyes moving over the softened expression, over the beautiful, somewhat angled features. “Luckily I only nearly ruined it,” He says lightly. “Does that mean I still have a chance?” He murmurs, pushing a lock of hair away from Draco’s forehead._

_The Slytherin lifts up a brow. “For what?” He asks blankly._

_“To date you.”_

_Draco rolls his eyes, but the effect is somewhat lessened by the small smile on his lips._

_“Well?” Harry asks, as Draco finally moves to pull up his trousers, and gets up to sit on the edge of the bed, after making sure his clothes are in a pristine condition._

_Draco’s eyes move over Harry’s body, and with mild amusement in his features, he pulls down Harry’s hospital gown, and then tucks him back into bed, under the covers. He surprises Harry by leaning forward, and pressing his lips against Harry’s forehead, right next to his scar, murmuring, “I’ll have to come back to you about that, Potter.”_

_He picks up his robes from the chair, pulls them over his white shirt and black trousers, and then leaves without saying no more, unlocking the door with a flick of his wand, and leaving the room in a flurry of robes. Leaving Harry in the infirmary, alone._

_Harry shakes his head slightly, letting out both an amused and frustrated huff. “…Bloody Slytherins.”_

And if thinking about the occurrence in the hospital wing doesn’t make Harry hard and wanting, he doesn’t know what does. He glances down, at his tenting trousers, and groans in frustration, digging the back of his head against the backrest of the sofa, until he feels a sharp pain in his skull.

“… _Fuck…”_ He hisses at the reminder that the blow to his head is still not completely healed.

However, the desire is still tingling in his groin, not lessened by the sudden wave of pain. He gives his lap a rueful look, before surrendering into his need, the craving and longing that have filled his chest not disappearing as Harry presses the heel of his palm against his prick. _Bloody Malfoy_ , Harry thinks, for making him unable to enjoy a quick wank without his mind wandering over to the blonde Slytherin.

Then, there’s a sharp knock on the kitchen window, and Harry nearly tumbles to the floor, as he jumps to stand up. He frowns and looks at the watch on his wrist; it is almost midnight, and Harry thinks it is rather late to owl someone. He walks into his kitchen, his throat tightening slightly as he sees the eagle owl standing outside of his window, a very familiar, condemning look on its eyes, as if knowing what Harry had been about to do in his sitting room.

It's the same look Harry has received from Draco multiple times. He snorts quietly, moving to open the window. The eagle owl drops the letter to Harry’s head, turns swiftly around, flapping its wings to Harry’s face as it does, before flying out of the window.

Harry splutters slightly, glares at the bird that is long gone from his sight, and sits down at the kitchen table, tearing the letter open with trembling fingers, somewhat dreading what Draco has written to him.

He stares at the parchment for a long moment, before letting out a huff of breath, feeling light, feeling a rush of excitement at the one word above Draco’s signature.

_Yes._

_D.L.M_

Harry quickly summons a quill and a parchment from his study, grinning wider than he has for a long time, before he leans over the parchment and starts to scribble his response.

It’s the beginning.


End file.
